


From the Ashes

by irene_heron (vysila)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Post-Return of the Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vysila/pseuds/irene_heron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Han reaches a turning point in his life. Can Luke help him see which path to take in this post-Return of the Jedi story?</i><br/>This story does not adhere to the published EU in any way.<br/>Written January - April 2001. Originally appeared in "Elusive Lover V". Fan Q Best Story, 2002.<br/>Two illustrations accompany this story.<br/>Moonlight by walkerminion (explicit, male genitals visible)<br/>Ashes by zyene</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Ashes

I never saw no miracle of science  
That didn't go from a blessing to a curse  
I never saw no military solution  
That didn't always end up as something worse, but  
Let me say this first  
If I ever lose my faith in you  
There'd be nothing left for me to do

Sting, If I Ever Lose My Faith in You

 

The summons came late in third watch, just as the sky was lightening to gray. Not that it mattered, for rest had remained as elusive for Han Solo this sleep cycle just as it had for too many others before. He lay on the narrow cot, stripped to his shorts in the sticky Druallan night, and warily eyed the shadowed corners of his tent. Awake wasn't any better than asleep: mistakes and remorse still crowded in on him from those shadows, untamed creatures scheduling their next assault on his eroding façade of competence.

In a way, it had been better during the fighting, holding himself together on the edge of exhaustion by sheer strength of will. Petty concerns like guilt and regret had had to wait their turn, secondary to the effort to survive.

Now that the dangers were over and he had the luxury of sleep, he found he couldn't. Instead of counting nerfs at night, he'd taken to counting his mistakes.

Too many others had paid the price for his arrogance.

Drualla used to be a pretty world, too, before General Han Solo left his mark on her. Impatient with the lengthy period of inactivity after Endor, Duro and Corellia, he'd pushed to lead this mission. The campaign to retake Coruscant was still months away and his restless nature had required a more immediate challenge. He'd answered Rieekan's and Ackbar's attempts to dissuade him from the undertaking with careless good humor, certain that it was better to focus on the many worlds they could reclaim and save now rather than hoard their resources for one big centralized offensive on a single planet.

He'd never been so wrong in all his life.

It didn't help that the others—Leia especially, had been right, either.

The questions Leia had flung at him all those months ago still echoed unanswerably in his memory.

For more than an hour she'd tried, in her own unyielding fashion, to convince him of his error. Launching their escalating, heated arguments from opposite corners of her cramped office like prize-fighters hurling scorn at an opponent while waiting out the next round. Entirely at cross-purposes as usual. 

Finally, apparently coming to the same conclusion, she'd interrupted his increasingly irritated defenses with an abrupt gesture. "Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. You can list as many reasons as you want about why our decision to concentrate on the Coruscant campaign was a bad one and why your going to Drualla is good—and we could be here arguing until Hoth thaws. Perhaps it wasn't the best decision we've ever made, but it still makes sense and you did agree to it."

She'd leaned forward across her desk then, that uncomfortable symbol of priorities he couldn't share, to touch his hand lightly. Involuntarily he'd jerked away, not welcoming her sympathetic attempt at solidarity. The day when they'd shared a renegade spirit had long since passed. 

"I never promised I wouldn't—"

Anger had flared bright for just an instant before Leia resorted to the controlled rationality that had come to define her presence since Endor. "This isn't really about you being bored with datapushing or frustrated over politics, is it? There's another reason behind all this. So spill."

Trapped by her uncompromising insight, he'd remained silent, searching his heart for the intangible truths he couldn't yet catalog.

"Is it us?"

"No." The disclaimer had voiced itself prematurely, propelled by a reluctance to injure her. He'd hoped to avoid this moment, for hurting Leia was something he'd never wanted to do. But denial no longer offered a safe haven for either of them.

The truth followed more slowly, reluctantly. "Maybe."

Still trying to sort out conflicting emotions, he knew his decision to lead the campaign had been partly fueled by doubts about their relationship. For a time they'd both believed—wanted to believe—that they could keep on achieving the impossible, that balancing her disciplined soul against his independent spirit would result in happiness. These few months of peace had shown him the folly of that hope, for without the challenges and pressures of constant crises their relationship had crumbled. They had too little in common, required different crucibles in which to test themselves, and could find little enough comfort in each other's arms.

White-faced, she'd sunk back into her chair, but her indomitable spirit rallied within seconds. "So you'd rather run away than talk to me about it?"

The hollow sensation that'd been building in his chest expanded. "I wouldn't call it running away, Leia. More like… giving us both a vacation."

Hadn't made him feel any better to see the ironic smile she summoned. "If this is your idea of a vacation I'd hate to see what you call a rupture."

The silence vibrated between them, an invisible wire stretched to the breaking point.

"I guess maybe I'm missing the way things used to be," he'd said slowly. "Luke 'n you, me 'n Chewie…" 

Leia's burst of startled laughter bothered him for reasons he couldn't quite pin down. "Oh, Han, don't tell me you're feeling nostalgic for the good old days!"

Yeah, well, so what if he did? What was wrong with that anyway? All he really knew was that he was suffocating now, while Leia was blossoming into her true potential.

"For the first time in years we have a breather from the war effort, a little time to relax and enjoy ourselves, and you want to be off again. Volunteering without reason. I don't understand what it is you think you're missing." 

"It's just something I gotta do, Leia," was all he could come up with in response, as unsatisfactory as it was. 

"I wish Luke were here," she'd muttered, almost to herself. Her expression was bleak. "He has a way of getting through to you when I can't. And you always listen to him, don't you?" 

Her intelligent eyes had raked over his slouched form, like she was estimating the level of Han's trust in her brother's opinions versus her own. The look had made him uncomfortable, with its suggestion he should apologize for his friendship with Luke.

"This… whatever it is you're looking for. You think you'll find it on Drualla?"

He'd shrugged again, wishing he could silence the growing certainty within himself that said she was right. 

She'd bitten her lip and looked away. "Then go to Drualla, Han. I hope you find what you need there. Maybe you're right that we need a little time away from each other. We'll talk again when you come back."

"Sure," he'd hedged, agreeing to what they both knew was only a postponement of the inevitable.

He'd carried that image of her with him ever since, her slender, tense figure haloed against the brilliant Corellian sunlight streaming in through the window. Proud, isolate and courageous. And the only comfort he took away with him was the knowledge of her personal strength and her devotion to duty, both of them ultimately more important to her than he'd ever been.

He turned restlessly, trying to erase that particular memory, and instead roused an even older, more painful one.

Maybe his mother had been right after all, so many years ago. Scolding him, warning him, trying to protect him from what she saw as a lonely, unloved future. Perhaps his need for personal freedom _was_ the biggest obstacle between him and Leia. _Independence doesn't mean you have to turn your back on trust and love,_ Ma had warned him over and over. _You think letting someone get close to you means having to give up your freedom, but that isn't how it works at all._

But for all he could tell, love did mean sacrificing the very thing that had always defined him.

Love and trust. The two things that'd sent him off-course when he met up with a headstrong princess and an idealistic farmboy. Love and trust was what had set him straight on a collision course to today.

 _Sirussi,_ the Druallans had dubbed him. Named him after some frikkin' mythical bird and called it an honor, and looked to him to save their godsbedamned world. What'd they expect—miracles? They were looking at the wrong guy for that; Luke was the one who was supposed to do miracles. 

Not that that hokey magic had helped anybody much. Including Luke.

Han glanced across at the other cot where Luke dozed fitfully, and felt his belly twist with regret. No rest for the Jedi either, that was for sure. He'd been at Han's side every step of the way, his wingman in the air and at his elbow throughout all the ground skirmishes. Always there, ready to talk or listen or laugh or fight as circumstances dictated. Shouldering Han's burden as if it were his own.

Luke had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, damn it, although back then they'd both called it being in the right place at the right time. Flying in just hours before the task force set out, the kid had heard the news from Leia, abandoned whatever other plans he might've had and come straight to Han to offer his help. Just like old times, Han'd thought, pleased to have both Chewie and Luke along for the ride. He'd teased Luke, though, about not learning anything from his military service, not if he still kept on volunteering for hazardous duty after resigning his commission. Luke had laughed, but the expression in his eyes said far more. The kind of thing neither of them ever said aloud, but they both knew anyway; things like loyalty and commitment and never letting your friend's back go unprotected.

Luke's decision hadn't been popular with anybody else, though, from Mon Mothma on down. At the time it'd felt good to know Luke wasn't about to roll over for those musty bureaucrats who thought they had a lock on just what the last Jedi's role should be in this new government, even if one them _was_ his own sister, and tried to dissuade him from wasting his time with a rogue general on a fool's errand. But now, with the lacerating clarity of hindsight, Han knew such loyalty had only recoiled on both of them.

Han shifted restlessly again, trying and failing once more to close his mind against memory. 

Should've been perfect—him 'n the kid 'n Chewie were supposed to be an unbeatable team. Hadn't expected things to go so wrong.

Oh, yeah, Drualla had been a pretty world: endless fields of farmland, kloms upon kloms of orchards and vineyards, sparsely populated and harvesting enough food for half a sector. Once his task force had made quick work of the standard Imperial occupation detachment, he'd patted himself on the back, authorized shore leave for his troops and visited the planet himself.

And been caught with his guard down when what seemed like an entire sector fleet came calling.

"All hells!" Impatient with the overactive workings of his mind, he rolled onto his side and listened to the early morning rhythms of the camp. The military officers were bivouacked some distance from the refugee camp; at least he no longer heard the moans of the injured or the sobs of the grieving. The Disaster Area Relief Teams had arrived and organized the bewildered and displaced survivors into camps with a grim efficiency bearing sad testimony to the number of times they'd had to perform similar tasks. 

He tried to nail his mind into the moment by focusing on familiar sounds: Luke's soft breathing; the bass hum of power generators; an occasional electronic sizzle of security screens; the subdued murmur of conversations between wakeful officers; and finally, the crunch of purposeful steps approaching his tent.

"General Solo?" The voice was youthful and hesitant; he couldn't identify its owner.

He replied softly, one eye on Luke, not wanting to disturb him. "I'm awake." Grateful for any excuse that distanced him from his thoughts, Han levered himself upright and moved to the door flap. 

"Yeah?" Dawn was just beginning to streak the sky, promising another scorcher of a day. He rubbed a hand across his chin, felt the scratch of coarse stubble and recalled that shaving had been pretty low on his to-do list for more than a few days.

The messenger, who must've come in with the reinforcements because Han still didn't recognize him, seemed a little bewildered; no doubt wondering if this broken-down has-been could possibly be who he claimed to be.

"Lieutenant?" He returned the crisp salute with his own sloppy version, finding a certain amount of ironic humor in the situation despite circumstances. Who would've thought he'd be returning salutes from a junior officer in public while wearing nothing but his underwear?

"Sir, the courier ship _Blaze of Glory_ has arrived in-system from Coruscant, carrying coded orders for you."

Han stared at the data wafer the boy held out to him. Command hadn't wasted any time at all; they must've dispatched the courier immediately after he'd refused the first polite request to report in person. He felt a reluctant grin quirk at his lips, unbidden. Bel Iblis' doing, no doubt. It took a Corellian to pre-empt another Corellian. He accepted the wafer reluctantly and squeezed his fingers around it, wanting the small bite of pain—anything to distract himself from the constant chant of guilt in his mind.

The way the boy stood there, looking at him in worshipful wonder, reminded him of another kid who'd looked at him the same way, a long time ago. Just what he needed, another idealist who thought 'Han Solo' translated into 'savior' in his native language.

"Something else?" 

"I just wanted to say what an honor it is to meet you in person, sir." 

Ask the Druallans if they still think it's an honor. Now that their world's ruined and half their population's been slaughtered. Ask those survivors if they still think I'm Sirussi. Ask if they still believe in miracles.

"And how much I admire—"

Han flung up a hand to silence the subaltern before he even realized what he was doing. His expression must've been pretty wild, because the boy gulped and backed away without another word, before Han's frustrations had the chance to focus on the confused youngster.

As he dropped the flap and backed into the tent again, all the doubts Han had been trying to control surged up, hot and sour in his mouth. The last thing he wanted was a hero-worshipping lieutenant. He never should've pretended to be a soldier; all he had was a talent for flying and a reputation as lucky. The luck had finally run out, as it was bound to do. Too damned bad for everybody who'd relied on the famous Solo luck. Dead innocents measured his accomplishments here on Drualla.

Maybe he deserved this, for forgetting the basic rules he'd formulated years ago, for ignoring good advice, for being who he was, but Drualla didn't. Chewie sure as all hells didn't deserve what'd happened to him.

Neither did Luke. He tossed another quick glance toward his friend. They'd all believed in him, trusted him—thick-headed Corellian with something to prove that he was. Same old story, and he'd been a fool to ever think he could reverse a lifetime's pattern.

He bit back irritation at his bottomless well of self-pity and yanked on the same clothes he'd worn the day before while he listened to his new orders. Bel Iblis had left no room for argument this time.

"Han?" Luke's sleepy murmur sounded so young he had to smile, lifted out of his self-absorption for just a moment. 

"Hey, kid, sorry I woke you. 'S early yet, sun ain't even up. Go back to sleep."

The flimsy military-issue cot creaked annoyingly as Luke struggled to prop himself up on one elbow and gestured vaguely toward Han's datapad lying abandoned on the makeshift table. "And let you sneak off to Coruscant by yourself?" A massive yawn spoiled the severe effect of Luke's mock scowl. "I don't think so."

Feeling his mood lighten immeasurably from the teasing note in Luke's voice, Han let the smile stretch into a grin. He'd learned a long time ago that having Luke around was good for both of them. "What? And let a youngster like you tag along on my first vacation in years?"

"What good's a holiday without somebody along to spoil it?"

Han was tempted to lean over and brush the untidy fringe of sandy hair out of Luke's eyes. Despite a couple days worth of beard stubble, the hair made him look even younger than he actually was. It was that youth which made everything that had happened to Luke even more unfair. Han couldn't quite curb his initial impulse but managed to turn the gesture into a friendly hair ruffling instead. 

"Hey, I don't want Leia accusing me of corrupting her baby brother."

And then he stepped back quickly to avoid the pillow Luke tossed at him. 

" _Baby_ brother? Some people are crazy enough to believe anything a beautiful woman says," Luke grumbled playfully. "Even when it's clearly wishful thinking on her part."

Han couldn't quite suppress a snort of laughter. "Yeah. Real obvious, farmboy. Anyway, just goes to show how much _you_ know about women, junior," he scoffed cheerfully. "Haven't met one yet who wants to claim being older'n she really is."

Luke laughed and shrugged. "I may not know a whole lot about women in general, but I do know Leia. And she'd definitely prefer to be the older. Thinks it gives her an advantage in our arguments."

Han grinned broadly again. "Like she needs it?"

He'd scored with that one, because Luke had to manufacture a cough to disguise what sounded like a strangled, disgruntled grumble.

Luke gave him no time to savor his victory. "Well, I guess you'd know if anybody would," came the quick, teasing retort.

Han guessed he did, at that. Memories of that final argument with Leia made his grin fade, and he seized on the first thing that came to mind, to hide his abrupt mood swing.

"I dunno, Luke. Rimworld farmboy on Coruscant—I'm not in the mood to nurse you through your first visit to the big city. You'd just get in my way."

"You never let me have any fun," Luke complained, and then raised up a little higher to scrutinize him intently. "You get any rest at all?"

Han nearly squirmed under that uncompromising stare. Luke had always been too blasted sensitive to his moods. "Sure," he fibbed easily, not that it'd ever done him any good with Luke. Might as well be transparent for all the luck he'd ever had trying to put one past the kid.

Luke sat up and frowned at him, then reached for the light swinging from the center of the cramped tent. They both blinked in the sudden, harsh glare. Caught unawares, Han didn't turn away quickly enough to hide the tell-tale evidence of yet another sleepless night.

"Liar. You look like something the dianoga dragged under."

Damned if Han's head wasn't full of memories he didn't much care to relive. He hadn't known Luke more than a few hours when that'd happened, and now the clutch of fear in his gut when the kid disappeared in the garbage masher tightened its phantom grip again after so many years. He'd felt responsible right from the start. Still did, for that matter. 

Uncomfortable at being caught in even a small untruth to Luke, Han took refuge in trading insults and misdirection, forlorn hope though it was. Luke didn't deflect easily. "Nah, that's still you."

At least Luke was trying, he had to give him that. Trying to keep their heads up above the ocean of failure threatening to trap them in the undertow. Using humor as the life-preserver of choice. With effort, Han scrambled to maintain the light-hearted attempt.

"Anyway, look who's talking. I'd swear you just went three rounds with a rancor."

He could tell Luke's smile had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with acknowledging his delaying tactics. Hand rubbing the back of his neck, Luke sighed in dispirited agreement. "Guess I've looked better at that."

Had Han been so inclined, he could've argued the point.

Luke softened his voice when he spoke again, and Han almost flinched at the concern expressed. "But I'm not the one being called to Coruscant to face what sounds like a formal inquiry."

Han shrugged, pretending the knot of guilt wasn't tying up tighter in his chest, and cursing Luke for going straight to the heart of the matter as always. He didn't really have to force the rude snort of derision and even ruder gesture toward his datapad. "This? This is nothing. I figured Bel Iblis would get self-important once he got back to Coruscant."

Luke grinned forgivingly back at him, a very welcome sight, and brushed ragged, overlong hair out of his face. Han's fingers twitched with the urge to help.

"You mean _more_ self-important, don't you?" Luke picked up a pair of trousers that'd been dropped on the floor in an untidy pile and examined them from both sides before tugging them on. 

Looked like Han wasn't the only one who couldn't be bothered to keep up appearances. 

Luke's voice was muffled as he bent over to search for more discarded clothes, but Han had no trouble hearing the further declaration of loyalty. "Well, whatever you wanna call it, you're not going to face that alone, Han."

"Sorry, kid, not this time. You sure don't learn from experience, do you? Wasn't coming here with me enough for you?"

"Guess I'm just stubborn that way." He flashed a quick smile toward Han that easily compared with the dawn light creeping through chinks at the door flap.

"Like hell you're coming with me, Luke. This is my responsibility, not yours."

Luke sat up again, and glared at him. "I seem to remember you being there when that dianoga pulled me under. And at Yavin. And Hoth. Were those your responsibility?"

Any other time Han knew he would've been touched at Luke's determination to share his fate, by his faith, but not now… not when everything was falling apart faster than even a Jedi could fix. From the stubborn jut of Luke's chin, he was going to have to do some serious arguing to sway that already-made-up mind.

"Yeah, they were," he agreed blandly, intending to divert Luke's logic with a little unexpected conformity. 

The deep, feral gleam in Luke's eyes as their gazes locked sent an unidentifiable spike of thrill chasing its tail through Han's gut.

"That so?" A brief smile lifted the corners of Luke's mouth, leaving Han with the uncomfortable feeling he'd managed to give something away with that admission.

"Yeah." All hells, he was digging himself a deep hole here, and no way to get out except through Luke's iron will. 

Luke directed another wicked grin in Han's direction. "So quit your whining. This is _my_ responsibility."

"I'm not keeping score anymore, y'know. 'S not like you owe me anything."

Luke straightened up and his lips tightened down hard. "Han. Don't do this."

He shrugged, professing ignorance. "Do what?"

"Shut me out."

"I don't know what you're talking about, kid."

"That's bantha pudu and you know it!" Blue eyes flashed angrily. "I'm your friend, remember?"

Nope, never had been any point in pretending with Luke. "Maybe they wanna court-martial me," he said abruptly, driven by some vague notion of warning Luke away from danger. "I would, if I were Bel Iblis. No point in you getting caught in the cross-fire, Luke."

"That'll hardly make any difference to the board, 'n you know it. If they decide to hand out fair shares of blame, I'll get mine whether I'm there or not."

Han folded his arms across his chest in a clear gesture of disagreement. "Hey, out of sight, out of mind. Just trying to save you some grief, kid." 

Luke jerked his head up, the flare of annoyance unmistakable. "Who asked you to protect me, anyway? I thought we were equal partners."

"Isn't that what you're trying to do? Protect me?" he challenged back. He regretted the hostile words the instant they left his mouth.

Luke frowned. "No, it isn't. I'm standing with you. There's a difference." An awkward silence stretched between them, not quite sharp-edged enough to fragment Han's resolve.

"You going noble and self-sacrificial on me after all this time?" Luke finally asked in what was obviously a forced light tone, because his expression was stricken. "I thought that was my job description."

The distress in the kid's eyes wove a braid of dull grief around Han's spine. He'd damaged Luke enough for one lifetime, damned if he'd pull him down any further. He shrugged, cursing himself for his clumsy lack of subtlety and resorting to familiar bluntness. 

"Hell no! That's where I start getting into trouble, when I do for others. Taking care of myself is what I do best. Like I said, you'd just get in my way."

"And you think my letting the person I—" He could tell Luke caught some words back before they had a chance to become reality, and try again. "You think letting my best friend set himself on a path of self-destruction is something I can do?"

Luke sat there on the edge of his cot, crumpling his dusty, rumpled black shirt in tight, hard fists, not quite looking at Han.

He opted for deliberate misunderstanding and snorted rudely, letting disbelief color his answer. "Listen, Luke, if after everything that's happened in the past couple months you still think I should be a general, well… I figure you must be a minority of one by now. 'Sides, there's a nice symmetry about it, don't you think? One for the beginning of my military career and one for the end of it."

"It's not just a court-martial I'm worried about, Han."

 _Damn you, Luke, for not letting it go._ He pasted another grin on his face and hoped for the best. "You worry too much."

"Do I? I don't like what I'm hearing from you, Han. Or rather, what I'm not hearing." Those clear blue eyes stared into his own, probing for the truth of his thoughts, unraveling every last shred of resistance. "Talk to me, Han."

Familiarity with that tone of voice made him turn his back to the man who saw too much and knew him too well, to fumble blindly for his datapad. "Nothing to talk about," he grumbled, refusing to look at Luke, because surely the invitation in those eyes would be irresistible.

Only a whisper of sound warned him that Luke was standing directly behind him, before a warm hand settled on his shoulder. Simultaneously comforting and disturbing.

"Kept hoping you'd say something to me, Han. I know something happened between you and Leia. Is that part of it?"

"Leia tell you that?" Hells, if that was the reason Luke'd come along after all…if Leia had sent Luke along to babysit him… "S'pose she gave you an earful."

Luke's hand tightened on his shoulder, perhaps trying to convey reassurance. But Han found his muscles winding up even tighter at the added pressure, like his entire body was wired to some current centered on Luke's touch. 

"She didn't say anything, Han."

Of course she hadn't, he'd known that all along. It wasn't in Leia's nature to offer up her personal trials for inspection, not even to her closest comrades. Always hiding behind that façade of fiercely vigilant composure. We have no time for our sorrows, she'd once said, shortly after they met. For all Han could tell, she still didn't have time. At least he'd never been able to draw it from her. Another failure.

"She didn't have to. I see it in your eyes when you say her name. What's this really about, Han?"

Leia had asked the same question. He still didn't have an adequate answer. Only an ever increasing sense of a lack in his life, some focus, some purpose he'd glimpsed out of the corner of his eye, only to have it vanish when he turned his head to meet it head on.

A hail from outside the tent spared Han from floundering for some kind of response. 

"Jedi Skywalker? Team Four is ready for their briefing."

Han had been greatly relieved when the arrival of New Republic military reinforcements freed Luke from military obligations and allowed him to assume a more rewarding role, that of directing the rescue teams dedicated to locating scattered survivors. Felt right to him that Luke should be focused on life, not death. _You've seen enough ugliness already, kid, enough for two or three lifetimes._

With a meaningful squeeze of Han's shoulder, a gesture that said louder than words they weren't finished with this discussion, Luke quietly acknowledged the announcement. "I'll be right there."

Han seized on the convenient interruption. "Thought you were supposed to lead that team up into the Ad'a'hla Range this morning."

"I was. Sylos Batarr knows the terrain better than anyone else, though. She's the best choice to lead the team anyway. I'll just sit in on the briefing. Won't take long."

Han fought the resentful grin roused by Luke's implicit warning: don't you dare leave without me.

"Not like you to abandon your duty, Luke." The hostile accusation hadn't come out of his conscious mind, that was for sure, but wherever it came from, Luke's insistence on sharing Han's fate was stringing his entire body tight with a new kind of tension. He felt an overwhelming impulse to flee, but from what, he wasn't quite sure. 

Luke's hand dropped from his shoulder; Han took a perverse satisfaction in the rejection.

"I'm not. I've just reordered my priorities a bit." Luke held his gaze for a long moment, that direct, steadfast stare that'd always turned Han inside out and made him question every self-protective choice he'd ever made, before heading out to the briefing. 

Alone finally, Han almost laughed in frustration, a knot of anger drawing up tight and hard in his throat. Damn Luke for staying so calm and immovable. Damn his loyalty to all Corellia's seven hells. What was it gonna take to get through that thick Jedi hide? Didn't Luke realize it was for his own good?

Or was it? For a moment, Han sensed the answer, the balance he'd been searching for, dancing tantalizingly close again. He held very still, stopped breathing, so he wouldn't accidentally chase it away again, as he had so many times before... but the answer eluded him yet again.

# # # # #

Stepping out into the slightly fresher open air offered little relief from the humidity of his tent. Drualla in high summer was just plain sticky and unpleasant, and entirely too reminiscent of Yavin IV. From across the compound that same young lieutenant hurried toward him, and Han knew he'd been caught in the open, with no place to retreat. 

"Good morning, General." He offered Han a large mug of steaming liquid and a datapad containing the current watch report. "Orders, sir?"

He took a sip of the liquid—military style kaffin, hot enough to burn his tongue, strong and bitter, entirely suited to his mood—and peered at the boy's nametag.

"Thanks, Tekan," he muttered. He was one of the new ones, arrived with the reinforcements in the past few days. 

"Where's Colonel Aspeth?" His Mon Cal aide was nowhere in sight, but Han glimpsed an astromech droid loitering at the corner of one of the administrative huts. Artoo? Difficult to tell at this distance and then the droid rolled out of sight before he could confirm the identity.

"In the refugee camp, sir, investigating the stolen flitter report called in by Administrator Brontier. Shall I recall him, sir?" 

The lieutenant was eager, comlink already in his hand. Anxious to please.

"No. I'm heading over to the camp anyway, to visit Chewie. I'll find Aspeth myself."

"But, General—"

Han didn't wait for the rest of the statement, but at least he remembered to keep his pace to a brisk walk and not a run. He'd visited Chewie every day while he soaked in the bacta tank; he sure as hell wasn't gonna miss saying goodbye to the furry oaf now.

Tekan kept pace with him. "Sir, Captain Marron would like to know when to expect you aboard _Blaze of Glory_."

"When I get there, Tekan, that's when he can expect me." He'd already decided on his course of action; a fast check on Chewie's status, a quick and dirty transfer of authority to Aspeth, and then he'd invisibly slip away before that briefing ended. By the time Luke figured out what he'd done, he'd be in hyperspace. And Luke would be safe, temporarily.

"She, sir. Captain Marron is a—"

Han ground to a halt, hanging onto his temper by the smallest of margins. None of this was the lieutenant's fault, of course, but his presence was a fundamental irritant for reasons Han refused to examine too closely. "Tekan, don't you have something else to do?"

He saw a flash of resentment and disappointment in Tekan's eyes, and then his jaw firmed.

"Yes, sir."

"Then go do it. I'll let you know when I need you."

The young lieutenant stood his ground. "Begging the general's pardon, but Jedi Skywalker said I shouldn't let you out of my sight. Sir."

Already half-turned away, Han froze in position, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach reminding him that Luke could be just as devious as any Corellian when it suited his purpose. "What else did Jedi Skywalker say?"

"He asked that a glider be readied and that both your and his belongings be packed and placed in the glider. He said you would be traveling together."

Han grinned. Luke hadn't been devious enough, he'd left a hole Han could pilot a star destroyer through. The kid's essential distaste for manipulation showed. "Well, I guess you'd better take care of that first. I think I can manage to find my way to the refugee camp and back all by myself."

The lieutenant shifted his weight; by the awkward expression that flitted across his face there was more coming. "Jedi Skywalker wanted to make sure you didn't leave without him."

He didn't want to do this, undermine Luke's authority, but he'd been left little choice. "I appreciate Jedi Skywalker's concern, but since when do you take orders from a civilian?"

Damn, but it felt like a betrayal to say that. Luke was only trying to help.

"I don't ordinarily, but this… Jedi Skywalker is unique. Sir. And it's not like he's countermanding any direct orders I've been given."

Han'd never heard truer words, but that wasn't the point here.

"There you go then. Pack our belongings and ready a glider, per Jedi Skywalker's instructions. For the rest of it, leave me alone. And that _is_ a direct order, Lieutenant."

Han watched Tekan salute, turn on his heel and walk away, as stiffly military and correct as he could manage, daylight glancing off that fair colored hair. All hells but he was tired of it, tired of seeing the expectation and trust in their eyes, knowing himself for a fraud. And the things he saw in Luke's eyes were the most painful of all.

During the short walk to the refugee camp he caught glimpses of small creatures slinking furtively through the underbrush and even heard an early bird song. He was glad to see animal life returning to this part of the forest, although he doubted there'd be enough food for the remaining wildlife in the next few winter seasons. Not after the Imperials' parting gift of incendiaries had scorched nearly a quarter of the forested lands. Recovery seemed an impossible task from here.

Beneath the acrid smells of fire and death clinging to the forest, the faint, sweet scent of vineroses still hovered like an empty promise, mocking him with yet another memory. Of Leia again, and the fragrance she'd worn the last time he'd seen her.

He'd failed her, not on purpose, gods knew he'd tried to squeeze into the mold she'd cast for him, but it had been an uncomfortable, restrictive fit at best. This mission to Drualla had been a case in point. Leia, Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis had made a strong, logical case for concentrating on Coruscant over other, more immediately realizable goals and eventually they'd worn down all the opposition. He hadn't liked the strategy he'd finally agreed to, which boiled down to waiting and being patient. He'd never been good at either of those. Sitting back and letting so many planets suffer under Imperial rule when they had the means to free them simply wasn't something he could do.

It seemed to him that Leia had become too accustomed to seeing the overall picture, thinking in terms of winning systems and not worlds, not individuals. Somewhere along the way she'd gotten far too proficient in the political expediency that had become the rule of the day.

He'd said as much to her and watched her lips tighten against what he'd known to be an unworthy aggression, but he hadn't known how else to convey the depth of his feelings about this. The sharp retort he'd expected hadn't come. Instead, Leia displayed an icy restraint eerily similar to Luke's frustrating occasional aloofness. In that instant he couldn't mistake their shared genes.

But Luke would've never required him to do something that warred so fiercely with his own conscience in the first place. Sure, the kid had a way of saying and doing things that stirred that blasted conscience to life from wherever it'd been napping, but beyond that respect for Han's independence snapped into place. Maybe it was Luke's own awareness that he couldn't comfortably slip into the role others expected of him that allowed him to step back from trying to cram Han into a similarly ill-fitting uniform.

Han tugged at the collar of his uniform jacket. Maybe it was time to get rid of it after all. Maybe a court-martial was just what he needed. Maybe it was time to go back to doing what Han Solo did best—take care of himself.

Yes, he'd failed Leia badly, and couldn't quite shake the feeling that in failing Leia he'd somehow managed to fail Luke even more completely.

# # # # #

Han's fingers were still shaking when he keyed in the small glider's ignition sequence. He'd fulfilled his obligations. Toured the refugee camp one last time, prompted by the impulse to punish himself, he supposed. Met with Aspeth, brought him up to date on everything and formally turned command over to his second.

His final stop had been the medtent, one last check on Chewie—except there'd been no Wook in the tank. The fear hadn't started to cramp in his gut until after he realized Chewie was nowhere to be found in the entire damn camp and his questions to med staffers had been met with blank stares. It'd taken long moments for him to calm down enough for rational thought, to put two and two together and come up with less than a double-digit total.

Now only one more thing remained.

The glider rose smoothly, despite his distraction. Piloting came too instinctively to him to be affected by outside factors. He glimpsed the refugee camp out of the corner of his eye. Emergency shelters bobbed their rounded domes in clusters, only slightly less haphazard than mushrooms sprouting on the damp forest floor after a good rain. Beneath him the military camp displayed the rigid, unnatural structure of formal hierarchy.

Luke would be distracted by Han's manufactured administrivia for some time, a useful byproduct of that same chain of command Han had turned to his advantage for a change. His trickery might mean he'd never see Luke again, though, a thought he tried to squash before it could take root and breed generations of even more regrets, but the effort felt like a lost cause. 

By now Aspeth was firmly in charge, a far better choice for overseeing the temporary martial rule of the beleaguered planet. The Mon Cal didn't see the paradox in the situation the way Han did. He wondered if the Druallans understood they'd merely exchanged one form of servitude for another, and paid for the privilege with their own futures.

At least one Druallan did. He'd spoken briefly to her in the emergency medtent as she awaited transfer to the medical frigate. Only minor discrepancies in skin color and quantity of body hair marked native Druallans as slightly different from standard humans; the young woman Han had faced was attractive enough to draw his attention in any spaceport cantina. The close genetic relationship meant they could communicate easily without resorting to translators. It also meant Han could read the evidence of abuse left on her person, the wariness in her eyes and in the way she held her body. The flash of bitterness in those all-too-human eyes when he'd introduced himself reminded him again of how badly he had managed to wrong Drualla.

Sirussi, indeed. The young woman's blaming hostility had been refreshingly honest, something he could relate to far better than the calm acceptance which seemed to be the majority reaction. For all he could tell, there was nothing acceptable about being the agent of an entire world's destruction. And make no mistake, despite his best intentions, that's what he was.

He pointed the nose of the little glider toward his destination and pushed the throttle lever forward. 'Don't look back, Solo,' he cautioned himself. 'This part of your life is over.'

In moments the glider traversed the same terrain it had taken them weeks to cross on foot, a panorama of error everywhere he looked. Here a forest reduced to ashes, there the skeletal remains of a burned out village. The evidence of war spread out beneath him, careless jumble of a giant child's discarded toys: AT-ATs, AT-STs, speeders, swoops, even small spacecraft come home to rest after valiant effort.

He flew over once fertile fields that had produced enough grain to feed an entire sector and now would take years of hard work before the land could again yield a harvest. Unexpected craters pockmarked the fields and forests, legacy of debris too massive to burn up in the atmosphere. Gigantic irrigation pipelines lay scattered and broken like oversized pickup sticks.

Off to port the Ad'a'hla mountains thrust their jagged peaks skyward. Luke would soon be part of the team combing the range on foot for survivors. They'd discovered that the mountains' ore contents scrambled sensors useless the hard way, by dodging an imperial patrol at low altitude. Taken a year or two off Chewie's lifespan, he'd calculated, to judge by the agitated rumbles from his co-pilot as they'd threaded narrow canyons and skimmed the hills at treetop levels. But that flight had been a real rush in the end, pure seat-of-the-pants flying, going on instinct and determination only, and the memory conjured a smile.

Beyond the western horizon lay the capital of Bei Kope and its spaceport, his eventual destination. The Empire had been fairly kind to Bei Kope, sparing the city because of the concentrated Imperial presence and controlled spaceport; of course the city and spaceport were now under the jurisdiction of the Republic's military. What an improvement, Han thought sourly. But before he caught a shuttle from the spaceport up to _Blaze of Glory_ , he had one stop to make. One last apology.

He nudged the throttle again, slowing the little vehicle, and made a steep descent, following the line of destruction his wounded lady had made as she fell to earth for what was most likely the last time. As he circled once, surveying the damage from above, he saw the extended boarding ramp, the small flitter parked in her shadow. Even though he'd expected to find exactly this, he felt light-headed with relief; a barometer of the full measure of his concern.

Before the engine had whined to silence, Han popped the transplex canopy and vaulted from the cockpit. "Chewie!"

His irrational fears evaporated when his co-pilot appeared in the hatch. Chewie's fur was dull and matted from submersion in bacta, the wide shaved patch stretching diagonally from right shoulder to left hip looking for all the world like a reverse bandolier—and damned if he wasn't the most welcome sight Han had seen in a long time. The long scar torn in Chewbacca's flesh looked only slightly less cruel than it had before, a stark reminder of how close his partner had come to dying. 

[Han!]

No mistaking the joyful note in Chewie's voice. Faster than Han would've believed possible for someone straight out of the tank, the Wook leaped down the ramp and caught him up in those strong furry arms. Han hung on tight, touch grounding him in physical reality. In this moment of reunion he was even willing to ignore the overpowering stench of bacta and wet Wookiee fur.

"Went to the camp this morning 'n found out they took you outta the tank last night, and you'd disappeared soon after."

Chewie's deep rumble of laughter sounded like distant thunder.

[I didn't disappear. I checked myself out. The treatments had done everything possible and I need to recuperate on my own. You know as well as I that Wookiees heal better in nature than in medical facilities.]

Han reluctantly let go of Chewie's reassuringly solid bulk and stepped back to check him over carefully. "Yeah, soon as I heard one of the DRT's flitters went missing I figured what had happened. I'm not big on medcenters myself." He chose not to tell Chewie about his panicked search through the camp before his customary pragmatism kicked in.

"Why didn't you come'n get me? No need to go stealing flitters 'n such." Although he put the question casually, this was something that'd been nagging at him ever since he realized Chewie's first priority hadn't been contacting him.

Leia didn't need him, that was for sure. Luke was better off without him. He couldn't blame Chewie if they'd reached the upper limits of that life debt by now, but—

Chewie's eyes narrowed, clearly responding more to his mood than his words. Or maybe his scent, never could tell with Wooks. 

[I went to your tent, but you weren't there and Luke was sleeping. I left a message telling you I was coming here. Didn't you get it?]

Another surge of relief washed through Han at Chewie's words. He'd been too preoccupied this morning to check for private messages. "Nope. I was kinda busy."

A sly smile lifted the corners of Chewie's mouth, exposing those fearsome looking fangs. He gestured toward the flitter. [And as you can see, I didn't steal anything. The flitter's right there.]

Han matched the grin. "So I see. Guess they just weren't lookin' in the right place."

[Careless of the rescue personnel, I think. If they don't want anyone using their vehicles, they should lock them up.]

Damn but it felt good to see one of Chewie's self-righteous smirks again. For a while there he hadn't been sure he'd ever have that pleasure again. "I agree entirely, fuzzball." 

The grin faded as his gaze traveled the length of the ridged line crossing Chewie's torso. He was painfully thin. There hadn't been nearly enough rations to go around the past few months and Chewie'd suffered more than most in that respect, even before the crash that killed the _Falcon_ and nearly killed him into the bargain. 

Han had been lucky. Again. Had walked away without so much as a scratch. Survive. It was the one thing he could be counted on to do, despite impossible odds that felled everyone else.

Looking at his partner reminded Han of a day long ago and his first glimpse of a manacled, starving and still defiant slave. Anger pulsed hot and sweet in his veins at the memory, for that was the day he'd vowed to keep Chewie safe. Another promise he'd failed to keep. Only the latest in his current string of failures.

"You sure you're all right, pal?"

[You can see for yourself I'm fine. My concerns now are only you, the cub, and our ship.]

Their ship. His beloved, wounded _Millennium Falcon._ Grounded. His ship had been grounded for far too long, damaged beyond his and Chewbacca's ability to field repair. Not that they'd had the opportunity anyway, in the confused retreat marking a lost war. The _Falcon_ had come to rest on the outskirts of a ruined village, injured in the same attack that'd destroyed the village. 

Han's gaze swept across the jagged remnants of a small copse of trees, splintered from their barely controlled crash landing two months previously. The sheer drop of a canyon was less than a klom behind him. He supposed that so-called Solo luck had been with him in that landing, as a few seconds one way or the other would've meant death for themselves and the load of refugees huddled inside the _Falcon._ Hadn't felt lucky that day, though, not after watching the X-wing dart in and draw the fire meant for them. Not after watching Luke's fighter take one too many hits and go into a deadly flat spin that took it down somewhere beyond the horizon, only a quickly dissipating trail of smoke marking the location. No pilot evac—and that could only mean one of two things. Either the mechanism was inoperable… or pilot and droid had both been incapacitated.

Han was firmly convinced that had been the worst day of his life. His ship in ruins, his partner near death and Luke… he hadn't known if Luke was alive or dead, helplessly trapped in his ship's wreckage or a prisoner of war. Bile rose in his throat at the memory.

The worst godsbedamned day in an entire lifetime of bad days. He still didn't know how he'd made it through. They'd loaded Chewie on a damaged anti-grav sled and used it as a stretcher so they could get the hell away from ground zero before they lost anybody else. Hard as it'd been to leave the _Falcon_ out there by herself, exposed to whatever the TIES wanted to throw at her, he'd done it, because Chewie and Luke needed him.

When the Druallan survivors looked to him for leadership and direction, he'd pointed straight at the spot on the horizon where the X-wing had vanished. And then set a pace no one else could match.

Somehow he managed to betray his distress, because Chewie wrapped those thickly muscled arms around him in a hug that forced the air from Han's lungs. For once, he yielded to the comfort of his friend's embrace, just long enough to choke back the fear that'd come alive again.

"I'm all right, Chewie," he said, pulling away from the embrace and firming his jaw against any further display of sentiment. "Or at least I was 'til I got a whiff of that bacta breath there."

Chewie released him and whuffed gentle amusement, along with a healthy dose of curiosity. 

"Stop worrying, furface. I'm fine. Luke's fine. You're fine." Deliberately he turned his back to his co-pilot and focused on his ship. "So, what's the catalog of damages here?" Without a doubt the forced nonchalance in his voice wasn't fooling Chewie any more than himself, but maybe the Wook was smart enough to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

He touched the skin of his ship, swallowing hard at the sudden lump in his throat. He'd been one with the _Falcon_ for longer than he cared to remember. Seeing her like this was more than painful, reminder of yet another failure.

[Hanso,] his partner muttered in as gentle a tone as Han'd ever heard from Chewie. Coupled with the rarely used affectionate form of his name, it could only mean it was time to brace himself against some kind of paternal advice. He shot as dark a stare as he could scrounge at Chewie, warning him off, but of course the furball ignored it.

[You can't fool me, you know. I've always known when something is bothering you.]

"You're looking straight at the _Falcon_ 'n you're asking what's _wrong_?" He slapped his hand against the outer hull for emphasis, feeling the shock of contact travel clear up through his shoulder and neck. He'd put a little more energy into that slap than he'd intended, channelling his frustrations, maybe.

Chewie threw a look right back at him that said better than any words he didn't believe Han for so much as a nanosecond. [If that were the case, you'd already be tearing into her, starting the repairs. Something else is holding you back.]

"Just making sure you're all right first, oldtimer." He deliberately used the term to distract Chewie, because his partner hated to be gibed about his age. Chewie was still considered quite youthful by his species' standards and maintained a certain amount of vanity over his various accomplishments at such a young age. One of those intimate details Han wasn't above exploiting when it suited him.

But Chewie wasn't in the mood to be distracted, apparently. [Is it the cub? He looked all right last night, just exhausted.] There was genuine concern in Chewie's voice.

Hells, getting' nothing but backwash today, Han decided, weary of being unable to strike his trademark cynical bristle with any degree of believability.

"He's fine. Really. Just worn out. Like everybody else."

Chewie folded those massive arms across his now shorn chest and glared, the essence of immovable obstinacy, taking him to task silently. [You're hiding something. Why were you so busy this morning you had no time for messages? Something happened while I was in the tank.]

He deliberately looked over Chewie's shoulder into the distance, avoiding those curious, knowing eyes. No need to get Chewie all worked up over something he couldn't do anything about. 

"Yeah, well… I got my recall to Coruscant. Ignored the first one, 'cause they'd just put you into the tank 'n I wasn't about to leave you then. But this time I gotta go."

Chewie's expression softened instantly into one of understanding. Gods, how he'd missed having the furball at his side lately!

[Is it… the princess? Was it she who asked you to return?]

"Nope." He'd talked to Leia only once, shortly after the military reinforcements secured the planet, very briefly and impersonally. It'd been an open communication, of course, and he remembered feeling grateful there'd been no opportunity to say anything personal. She knew he and Luke were alive and unharmed, and beyond that he felt no obligation. And definitely no eagerness to return to her side. "Official recall for debriefing. From Bel Iblis."

'N let's just leave it at that, Chewie. No need for you to know it's probably going to be a formal inquiry into my incompetence and gross negligence.

Chewie nodded in that slow, significant way he'd spent years perfecting. Most humans labeled his solemn expression and grave demeanor as wisdom, and sometimes it was, Han conceded privately, but more often than not it was just plain bafflement over incomprehensible human behavior. 

[But you will go to her?]

Even a blind and deaf man could've interpreted Chewie's body language as unease.

Only now did it occur to Han that this was kind of an odd question for his partner to ask. The fuzzball was fussing over something else entirely. He wasn't sure whether he should be relieved or alarmed, 'cause Chewie had an instinct for going right to the heart of a matter. Just the way Luke did.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He heard his suspicion come out as belligerence, but it sure didn't feel like much of a surprise that Chewie'd picked up on the growing rift between him and Leia. Wasn't like he'd really tried to hide it that last week before departing Corellia anyway. "'S'pect I'll see her, sure. What's it to you, anyway, who I spend my free time with?

"Something you're not telling me, now?" He tried to make it sound careless, but Chewie had a bad habit of seeing through his defenses.

[She is very persuasive. And very beautiful.]

"You're not making much sense, Chewie." Persuasive? But he suddenly felt so godsdamned cold he couldn't help shivering, there in the stifling summer sunshine. "You make it sound like you think she's gonna bewitch me or something."

Chewie's expression conveyed the unspoken message that his guess hadn't been too far off the mark, and he didn't think he had the energy to touch that with a three-meter gaffi stick.

"'S not like she's got anything to do with a military debriefing, Chewie."

[I didn't think she did. But Luke will go with you, of course.]

That perplexing bit of logic wasn't quite as self-evident to him as it apparently was to Chewie. Grabbing on to the one idea he thought he could understand, Han deliberately dropped into his smuggler persona, folding his arms across his chest to emphasize his independence. "Luke ain't going with me. What makes you think he would?"

Chewie looked surprised at the statement; seemed like everybody except Han himself assumed Luke should accompany him.

[Why isn't Luke going with you?]

"'Cause he's got better things to do than nurse-maid me through a routine debriefing?" 

Chewie's wordless snarl of displeasure was about what he'd expected. Hadn't predicted the show of teeth, though. Han mentally shrugged. So bacta immersion made Chewie less tolerant of his particular brand of sarcasm? Or was there something else behind that strange over-reaction? 

"He's leading a rescue team up into the Ad'a'hla Range." He made a show of consulting the sun's distance from the horizon. "Probably halfway there by now. You got a problem with that?"

Took the furry oaf a long time to answer, with a hard look into the bargain. [Convenient circumstance, I'd say. Especially for one who is so exhausted. I'd think you'd be encouraging him to travel with you, to get away,] Chewie made a sweeping gesture that took in the desolation around them, [from all this.]

Han got the uncomfortable feeling Chewie knew he'd managed to trick Luke into staying against his will. They spoke simultaneously.

"How come you think it's so important for Luke to go with me now?"

[If Luke isn't going, then I will. I'll just get a few things from my cabin.]

"Whoa now, Chewie!" That statement sent a flare of alarm along every last nerve in Han's body, temporarily pushing his other questions below the threshold of concern. Good measure of his self-involvement, he realized, that he hadn't anticipated Chewie's expectation of coming along. And gods knew the overgrown oaf needed to direct all his energy into regaining strength and not wasting it over Han's self-made dilemmas.

Chewie patted his shoulder. He'd long ago lost any surprise over how gentle a Wookiee's touch could be. [You're concerned about how well I will manage the trip?]

Sure, that was a big part of what was sitting in a cold lump in the pit of his stomach, but wasn't all of it by a long shot. "Even Wooks need a little time to catch their breath, y'know." 

Ignoring Chewie's pointedly derisive response, Han plunged blindly into refuting unborn arguments. "Look, you're fresh outta the tank. 'N remember what you said first time we went there?" Coruscant was the last place Chewie needed to go right now. They'd traveled to Coruscant together only once, and Chewie'd declared then he'd rather take his chances in Kashyyyk's deadly jungles than in Coruscant's soulless artificial cliffs and canyons, and swore he'd never return. 

"Wouldn't go breaking your promises, would ya?" He gestured toward a still intact stand of conifers. "'Sides, no place on Coruscant for you to sling your hammock." 

It didn't take long to figure out from Chewie's determined opposition that appealing to neither his sense of comfort nor his self-preservation instincts seemed to be working… but the _Falcon_ was another matter entirely. Han grabbed at the perfect excuse with all the enthusiasm of a drowning man.

"You know one of us has to stay 'n get to work on the _Falcon._ She ain't gonna fix herself, pal. You want those by-the-regs techs workin' on her?"

Chewie whined a complaint about Han hitting him below the waist with that kind of argument, and then rumbled a grudging agreement, clearly not happy that he was making so much sense for a change.

"Aspeth'll make sure you get all the parts 'n help you need 'til I get back. Don't try to tell me you can walk off 'n leave her like this. I'd do it myself, but I can't this time. You got a choice."

Han told the little twinge of guilt at forcing his partner into choosing between him or the ship to shut up. Long as Chewie didn't get a whiff of what was really waiting for him on Coruscant, Han knew he could convince the Wook it was better to stay behind.

Han looked at his ship again, and felt the doubts seep into his soul. She'd suffered a lot of damage. Chewie would tear himself apart trying to restore the _Falcon,_ Han knew. Just as he would too, given the opportunity, but General Solo didn't have that luxury. If anybody could save her, though, it'd be Chewie, whose patience and meticulous attention to details were far better suited to her present needs than his own brand of inspired improvisation.

He judged he had enough time to indulge his curiosity and still beat it out of the system before Luke came looking for him. "C'mon, Chewie, the shuttle'll wait on me. Let's take a quick look at her." The urge to tear into a circuitry bay was overwhelming, to bury his confusing feelings under a layer of physical action. 

His first step within the confines of the _Falcon's_ hull gave him a comforting sense of security he'd not felt in a long while, but it didn't last very long. In the end he had to force himself to pay attention to his partner's lengthy recital of essential repairs, more occupied with unraveling his personal debt of guilt. Han knew himself well enough to accept that his practical nature substituted action for introspection, but it felt like he'd hit the back wall on that strategy this time.

Pointless to expect that Chewie wouldn't notice his preoccupation, either.

The big hairball slid out from under the cockpit panel, the microluma clamped between his lips flashing accusingly into Han's eyes, spotlighting his inattention, before Chewie dropped the light onto the deck.

[That's the third time I asked you to pass me the varidriver. Your mind isn't here at all. What aren't you telling me?] Chewie's expression was sober, his tone rough.

Han shook his head, not wanting to get into a wrangle over blame and guilt with his partner. Still, he managed to yank out the expected flippant response from his reserves of self-protection, followed up with what Leia had called Ironic Grin Number Twelve. Until she'd pointed it out, he'd been blind to just how predictable and limited their interactions had become.

"Hey, I'm just making a list of Coruscant pleasures I wanna check out. Didn't get the chance to sample a fraction of those diversions last time we were there, 'cause you were too busy whining and fussing over how miserable you were."

[That's right, blame me.] The twinkle in Chewie's eyes reassured him there was no animosity behind the comment, but a second later Han wasn't quite so sure when Chewie's next comment came out as harsh as some of the things he'd said himself.

[And just think, while you're enjoying Coruscant's delights and the Princess' charm, the cub will be risking his life in the Ad'a'hla mountains.]

The warm feeling of having gotten away with something faded from Han's chest. He hadn't really thought of the situation in those terms… and now there was no way he'd be able to quiet his conscience again.

"Stop exaggerating, Chewie. 'S not like he's goin' into battle again. 'N I don't 'zactly need help telling off a buncha stuffed shirts at a debriefing."

But of course his big hairy conscience couldn't leave it like that. 

Chewie rumbled deep in his throat. [I didn't say you need help. But you seem to be doing your best to keep him at a distance right now. There was a time when you would've welcomed his presence… and mine.]

Those all-too-human blue eyes invited absolution; something Han couldn't afford right now.

"I think some of that bacta must've gone straight to your brain, Chewie. There's nothing going on, 'n I ain't trying to keep you or anybody else at arm's length."

Chewie dropped his head and sighed but held his tongue, and for some reason, that was worse than any amount of angry snarls as far as Han was concerned.

He swiveled out of his pilot's chair and pushed to his feet, knowing he needed to duck out before either his traitorous tongue or the burning sensation in his eyes embarrassed them both. _Hells, just what I needed. More guilt. Ain't like I'm gonna be enjoyin' myself there anyway._

"Didn't realize it was getting so late. Gotta be going. I'll check in with you once I get to Coruscant. Anything you need, just ask Aspeth."

Chewie stopped him with a less-than-gentle paw on his forearm, eyes flashing with unusual intensity. [May the Tree Mother protect and guide you, Hanso.]

And that was how he left it, with Chewie's benediction ringing in his ears as he took the glider back up into Drualla's relentless sun-bleached sky. 

# # # # #

Han hadn't even had enough time to reach his assigned cabin before _Blaze of Glory_ broke orbit and reached for hyperspace. Looked like Captain Marron was just as anxious as he was to put Drualla behind them. He wondered just what kind of orders she'd been given, but didn't care quite enough to make any effort to find out. Just as well she was in a hurry—the whole mess would be over faster that way.

The cabin door slid open at his touch on the control; already programmed to his DNA. Because of his surreptitious departure he had no belongings with him, no excuse not to step over to the large clearsteel porthole and watch Drualla shrink as they pulled away from the planet. 

Luke, I'm sorry. I'm gonna miss you. But it's for your own good. You're just stubborn enough to jump right into the sarlaac's mouth after me if you have half a chance, so I won't give you that chance.

So many memories crowded in on him then that he nearly staggered under the weight of them. Luke's blue eyes blazing through the smoky dimness of that fifth-rate cantina where they'd met, challenging his notions that men couldn't be beautiful. Luke floating motionless and naked in the Echo Base bacta tank, closer to dead than alive, and the hours he'd spent pacing in the waiting area, unable to think past the fear seizing up in his gut. The way his heart tried to climb up his throat at his first glimpse of Luke after the battle of Endor, at his singed clothes, frizzled hair and the depthless pain in those eyes that spoke of some catastrophic experience on the Death Star. The way his whole body tingled when Luke—bloody, bruised and limping—flung himself into Han's arms with a shout of joy when they caught up with each other three long days after the skirmish that'd brought both ships down.

The rasp of the door buzzer cut into his thoughts, diverting him from the sensation of something essential tearing from his soul.

Probably the captain paying her respects to the sacrificial offering. 

He didn't stir from the viewpane, but called his instructions to the computer. "Open." Unlike the aging interior doors on the _Falcon,_ this mechanism was silent. Only the stir of displaced air and sliver of artificial light falling across his arm warned him the door had in fact opened.

"Han?"

Well, hell, he'd been so lost in those memories of Luke that everybody was starting to sound like the kid now. He shook his head to clear his senses, pivoted to greet his visitor… and stopped halfway into the turn.

He wasn't imagining things at all. The figure framed in the doorway was backlit by a subdued glow from the corridor, but he couldn't mistake that lithe, black-clad outline.

"I think you forgot something." 

Instinctively Han caught the small bag tossed toward him. "Thanks," he replied, his brain momentarily on auto-pilot, furious with himself for the way his heart battered against his ribs at Luke's unexpected appearance. 

He watched as Luke dropped the second bag he'd been holding and stepped away from the door, allowing it to slide noiselessly closed behind him.

"You almost managed it," Luke said softly, accusingly.

"Wasn't for lack of trying," Han countered dismissively, hoping the cracks in his façade of disinterest weren't revealing too much.

"That's for sure." Luke settled his hip against the small desk near the door and smiled thinly, if humorlessly. "Why?"

"Didn't we just have this conversation?" he grumbled, turning his attention to unpacking his bag.

"We started to have this conversation but got interrupted, as I recall," Luke contradicted, gentle affection in his voice despite clear frustration.

He supposed he'd known all along Luke would never let it rest. "Sure do go to extremes just to get the last word, don't ya?"

"I wouldn't have to if you'd stop running away."

Leia'd accused him of the same thing, but he refused to acknowledge the twin indictments. "How'd you get on board anyway?"

"I was in the co-pilot's chair on the shuttle. Figured you'd manage to slip past Tekan, so I had Artoo check on the orders you were issuing. He found all those data trails you were laying for me, and…" Luke shrugged and folded his arms across his chest, daring Han to disagree. 

Han felt his lips twitch. So Luke's manipulations hadn't been as clumsy as he'd initially thought. "Very underhanded," he approved. "Shoulda been born Corellian, kid."

"Am I supposed to feel flattered?" 

He looked up from stowing his spare changes of clothes in a drawer, embarrassment abruptly surfacing as irritation. Trust Luke to point out the underlying implication. Like deceiving people he cared about was something to be proud of?

For a moment he was back in the noisy, frantic hangar on Yavin IV, bearing up under Luke's accusing scrutiny. 'They could use a good pilot like you and you're turning your back on them.' What the hell was it about Luke anyway? The kid could get to him like nobody else, not even Chewie.

"What is it with you? I went to a lot of trouble to make sure you stayed put."

Luke grinned, a flash of his youthful smart-ass attitude breaking through that Jedi containment. "I know you did. Seemed a shame to put all that hard work aside, too, especially since you so rarely put that much effort into something."

At the gibe Han fought down his answering grin and lobbed whatever he had in his hand directly at Luke's head, and only belatedly realized it was a pair of underwear. "You might've respected my obvious wishes, junior." After all, it wouldn't do to let Luke know he was good medicine for Han's self-pitying mood, would it?

Luke fielded the clothing out of mid-air and tossed it right back at Han. His expression turned sober. "I might've… but it occurred to me that the effort you put into pushing me away might be a measure of just how badly you need me to stay close. Whether you want to admit it or not."

The comment sank like a stone into Han's conscience, weighted as it was with his conflicted expectations, rousing volatile defensive instincts at light speed. Two long strides brought him face to face with Luke. "Don't you go trying to tell me what I really need, kid!" 

Luke batted his accusing finger away. "I call them like I see them, Han. If you'd been serious about leaving me behind you wouldn't've taken so long to catch the shuttle. I missed saying goodbye to Chewie because I figured I had to hustle to get to the spaceport before you—and then I ended up waiting nearly an hour." 

The mildly voiced observation rang like truth in Han's ears and the rush of adrenaline that'd prompted his anger receded as quickly as it'd flushed through his system, leaving him almost breathless in reaction. 

"Nothing to do with you at all," he temporized, casting around quickly for something that didn't sound like a manufactured justification. "You had to know I'd never leave without saying goodbye to Chewie."

Disbelieving speculation stared at him from Luke's eyes, routing every chance of catching his breath anytime soon. But then Luke shifted direction again, and if the kid was deliberately trying to keep him off-balance, he was doing a damned fine job of it, Han decided.

"How is Chewie, by the way?" There was a pause, just long enough to nudge his guilty conscience into hyperdrive. "I heard he went AWOL from the med tent."

"He's doing all right." Yeah, 'n he'd be doing a whole hell of a lot better if I hadn't dragged him here with me and damn near killed him.

"Good. Although I would've liked to hear it from Chewie himself."

This time he welcomed Luke's cool response. It was exactly what he needed to coax the embers of harsh self-judgment into full-blown aggression. _C'mon, junior, lock 'n load. Get mad enough to walk away before you end up like Chewie. At the mercy of some crazy madman, bound by some fool notion of loyalty that'll get you killed one of these days._

"So why didn't you?" he flared grumpily, inviting Luke to punish him. "You didn't have to come chasing after me. 'S only your blasted interfering conviction you know what's best for me that made you miss a reunion with Chewie."

He didn't think he'd ever had more trouble summoning self-righteous outrage, but that was all right, because now it was Luke's turn to cross the cabin to come face to face with him, fingers digging into his biceps for emphasis.

And despite Luke's clear anger the touch meant reassurance to Han, a connection that refused to be severed.

"Damn you, Han! If you think that's all this is—"

That wasn't what he thought at all, of course, but damned if he'd undo what came with such effort and offer conciliation. Luke's hands tightened with impossible strength on his arms, enough strength to shatter bones… or his choice to put some distance between them.

Luke's stare was a touch on his skin all by itself, a challenge he felt compelled to answer. He felt it again, that frustrating sensation of being close to the answer to a question he'd not yet thought to ask. He needed to chase that gleam of enlightenment before it had a chance to disappear on him again.

"You tell me, kid. Just what is this?" Holding his breath, waiting for the answer his intuition promised Luke could provide.

"Can't you—?" But something stalled in Luke's eyes, a cautionary impulse edging them back from some unknown precipice, and Luke released him. "You tell me."

Han wasn't sure if he wanted to curse or cry. So close. So godsdamned _close._ Tension hovered between them like an impermeable storm cloud, frustration brewing on both sides.

He jerked away from Luke's loosened grip, disappointment unraveling the last shreds of his control, and purposely turned around to stare out the porthole. "Spare me the morale boosting speeches, junior. I've had my fill."

Luke's reflection drew back, arms folded across his chest in a gesture that was less denial than like he was trying to hold something inside. Han's heart cramped in his chest at the sight, but he couldn't allow himself to become distracted. Distracted from what, Solo? From caring about Luke?

"Maybe I wasn't gonna give you one." 

"Ri-i-i-ght." He drew out the single syllable just to ensure even idealistic Luke recognized sarcasm when he heard it. "And Hutts fly."

"I could arrange that, if you like."

He supposed he had only himself to blame if Luke tossed sarcasm right back in his face.

"Hey, I'm not the one who invited myself where I wasn't wanted." Wasn't that he wanted to cause any more pain, because gods knew he'd caused enough lately, but he couldn't see a path to getting Luke out of the not-so-friendly-fire zone that didn't involve some damage. Hells, Luke, don't be so damned loyal! You don't hafta appoint yourself sole savior of the galaxy.

"I don't believe that."

So typical of the kid, stubbornly refusing to heed any warning signals. Hellbent on ferreting out even the smallest discrepancies between feeling and deed. Although Han supposed it shouldn't come as any surprise that Luke seemed able to inventory the turmoil in his soul when he couldn't.

"Believe what?" he found himself asking thoughtlessly, and instantly cursed himself silently for taking the bait offered.

"That you don't want me." Luke's voice was entirely calm. Inflectionless, even. Almost like he was afraid to put too much meaning into the words.

'Don't want me.' Some ill-defined tension took hold in Han's muscles, tightened and coiled like a sand viper ready to strike, all hissing tongue and piercing fangs.

Had Luke really said that? He cut a quick sidelong glance to read Luke's expression, but the Jedi mask was firmly, imperturbably in place. Nothing like the open, eager farmboy of earlier days. When had Luke learned to use words as his weapon of choice? 

A phantom heat warmed the hollow behind his breastbone. "What—" His breath clotted in his throat, making words impossible. "What's that supposed to mean?" he finally managed to whisper past the absurd sense of anticipation grabbing up and down his spine.

Luke's voice was just as hoarse and strangled. "Sometimes—sometimes people turn away, not because they want to be alone, but because they want to see if you'll follow." 

Had his hands been shaking like this the day he'd faced Lando across a sabacc table and gambled everything for the ship he wanted the way a man dying of dehydration wants water?

Must've been something wrong with the cabin's environmental controls, because there just wasn't enough oxygen in the room to make a decent lungful.

Evasion, an old friend, reliably rescued his silent distress. "Look, Luke, you're making this into something it's not. I'm just trying to save you'n Chewie some grief, that's all."

In the clearsteel window, a mirror image of Luke hugged himself tighter and spoke to his back, because Han couldn't quite summon the strength to turn and look directly at Luke. Those damned eyes saw too much, stuff that wasn't really there. 

"Maybe we don't want to be spared. And since I doubt Captain Marron is gonna turn this ship around even if you ask real politely, there's no point arguing the issue. You have to deal with me, Han. I'm not letting you go."

He didn't have to look at Luke to know exactly the expression the kid was wearing, his chin firm, eyes blazing loyalty and stubborn faith in his ability to shape reality through conviction alone. 

_Not this time, junior. I won't take you down with me._

Honesty challenged stubborn purpose and lost the toss, and with a mournful sense of triumph, Han surrendered to the instincts that had served him so well in the past. 

"You don't wanna be spared—that's fine with me. You want it straight, you'll get it straight. I'm sick of this whole damned mess." He took a deep breath and stumbled over an awkward confession. "I haven't owned my life since the day I met you."

He had to strain to hear Luke's quiet response, laced with regret. "I know." 

Still holding tight to programmed purpose he braced himself against Luke's touch on his arm, an unwelcome gesture of clemency. 

"You didn't have to stay."

He leveled an accusing finger at Luke's reflection. "Didn't I? 'S all your fault, y'know. I've always had a soft spot for kids who don't seem able to take care of themselves. What was I supposed to do when you kept on getting yourself into impossible jams? Somebody had to get you out. You sure weren't able to do it yourself."

Luke's small laugh sounded more like it had little to do with humor and everything to do with rendering self-judgment. "I'm glad you did. Stay around, that is. And help me out of those jams." 

A moment's silence followed, so finely balanced that Han feared a single breath might upset the equilibrium.

"I said lots of things back then, Han, but I'm not sure I ever just said 'thank you'. I wouldn't be here today if not for you. A big part of who and what I am now is because of you. So... thank you."

Wasn't true, not a word of it. Everything Luke had done, he'd done all on his own… but it was just like the kid to assign the credit to others.

Misery damming in his throat faster than he could swallow it away, he shrugged, trying to dismiss Luke's gratitude and knew the attempt was doomed from the start. "Yeah, well, you're taking care of yourself 'n everybody else just fine now. No need for me to hang around anymore." 

Resolve wavered again, disarmed by Luke's dogged loyalty, and he had to fight every instinct he owned to draw his purpose back into focus. 

"Look, it all boils down to this—I've done my time and now I want my life back. I just don't wanna be responsible for you any more." He gestured vaguely toward the window. "All of you. Not just you, kid, but Leia 'n the New Republic too. I'm tired of trying to live my life according to everybody else's rules 'n not mine. It's time for me to move on."

"Is it?" A shuffling sound made Han turn his head. Luke stepped forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. A statement of solidarity he couldn't ignore, even now.

"I don't suppose I can blame you for wanting to do that. We – I— put a lot of pressure on you to stay even though it wasn't in your own best interests. It wasn't right to interfere with your life that way, but—" With that supple economy of movement Han had come to admire, Luke turned his head toward Han and smiled in a way he could only describe as apologetic. "I didn't want you to leave then. And I sure don't want you to go now."

He didn't want to, either. At least not this way. Hadn't wanted things to come down the way they had. Never dreamed it would hurt so damned much to reclaim freedom.

"I'm not sure what I'd do without you," Luke said softly, his gaze as luminous and focused as ever, and for all Han could tell, the kid meant what he said. His pulse thundering in his ears like angry waves breaking against a cliff at high tide, Han balled his hands into fists with the effort not to fall into the bottomless well of Luke's compassion. Don't do this to me.

He wasn't sure if the sounds that managed to crawl past the lump in his throat really resembled words. "You'll be just fine. You don't need me anymore." Now if only he could convince himself that he'd be fine leaving Luke behind.

He remembered blue eyes glimmering in the frosty haze of an ice-bound hangar, a tremulous smile too full of sentiment to summon words… neither one of them had been able to say goodbye then, either.

Luke shook his head and turned to fix his stare somewhere beyond the clearsteel window. "Maybe it's true I'll be fine if you leave. Eventually. I don't know about that. But I do know you're wrong about me not needing you anymore."

His denial rose instinctively, thoughtlessly. "'S not true, Luke, 'n you know it."

"So now it's your turn to tell me what I really need?" Luke protested softly.

Han couldn't help but let loose a startled chuckle. "Yeah, I guess that's turned into some kind of habit for both of us."

The farmboy who still lived inside that Jedi's body smiled at him, genuine humor transforming the reserved expression. Luke's radiant smile had always been irresistible and Han didn't even bother to fight responding in kind. 

"Far as habits go, I don't think it's such a bad one, Han."

 _Pretty damn good habit, you ask me._ He shrugged and adopted as casual a tone as was possible with his throat closed tight against the possibility of carelessly truthful words. "Could be worse, I suppose."

Definitely the right thing to say, because anger flashed across Luke's face and surfaced in his clipped comments. "Could've fooled me. I don't think it gets much worse than this. There's a rift as big and empty as the Dune Sea between us, and it feels just as impossible to cross."

Following up on his resentful advantage, Han fought to maintain his careless attitude. "You're making way too big a deal out of this, kid."

"Am I? I don't know what to make of anything right now. I get the feeling you think this is an all or nothing situation. That you have to make a break and disappear from our lives forever because—"

"Because what?" he finally prompted when Luke refused to finish his sentence. The need to know what Luke thought was a drug-resistant virus running wild in his bloodstream. Unfair, to be sure, when he was so determined to keep his own truths a closely guarded secret, but then again, who'd ever said life was fair?

Luke just shook his head and offered an oblique comment. "I thought you wanted to... belong. Maybe you didn't say it in so many words, but you showed it in every choice you made since—"

"Carbon freeze," he finished flatly, guessing at Luke's reluctance to re-awaken memories of that frozen desolation.

Too late by a couple of years anyway. Something else he lived with day and night.

"I'm sorry. I wish…" Luke's hand on his arm spoke silently of sorrow, of unintentional errors, of Luke's never-ending willingness to accept responsibility where none existed.

Something open and vulnerable and trusting still lived inside Luke. The same thing that'd set him apart from everybody else, right from the start. 

A willingness to let himself be hurt, if it helped someone else. Ah, Luke, I'm not worth it. Never deserved your faith in me. Never was worthy of your pain.

"'S all right," he muttered roughly. An awkward pat on Luke's hand would have to signify that he held Luke blameless, because no other words were going to get past the lump in his throat.

"Was I wrong?" Luke's hand tightened on his arm, a grip that refused to be placated. "Belonging doesn't mean you have to stop being you."

"Well, I think it makes me into some kind of exotic pet more than anything." 

Luke's hand slipped from his arm and clenched into a fist. "Damn you, Han! All I see is you running away from people who love you. You made a commitment to us - to me - and now you're turning your back again. It's not like you to avoid things."

Call him a coward, would he? "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do." Misdirection had always come instinctively for him, even though the words were toxic in his mouth.

Luke's voice, low and firm and determined. "You're just plain wrong. Do you realize you've called me 'kid' or 'junior' more times in the last couple of days than in the past three years combined?" Luke shoved ragged bangs away from his eyes in a quick, careless gesture. "If you're so sure I don't need you any more, how come you're trying to turn me back into that 'kid' again?"

You can do something like that and still wonder why? "Just habit, jun— Luke."

Under cover of watching the transition from real-to-hyper space, he studied Luke's reflection. That slender frame had matured at some point in the past few years; no longer a youth's body, but a man's, sculpted, toned and deceptively powerful. The boyish features had matured, too; marked by time and experience, and Han'd been sure he'd come to terms with that long ago.

"I don't think so. Not after two years of not saying it."

"You don't think so? Enlighten me, then. Since you've got all the answers."

Luke shook his head and shrugged a shoulder helplessly. With his arms wrapped around himself like he'd never be warm again. "You're the man with the answers, Han."

He couldn't come up with anything more original or convincing than a simple, last ditch refusal. "I already gave you my answer."

Luke's frustrated laugh came out more like a sob. "But that wasn't the answer I wanted to hear."

"Sorry, but it's the only one I've got."

"I can't accept that."

So what had he expected anyway? Wasn't in Luke's nature to roll belly up when confronted with opposition. Hell, Vader 'n Palpatine hadn't had a chance against Luke's unshakable focus so what hope did a smuggler turned luckless general have?

"You'll just have to," he managed to grit out, fighting a wave of empathy for Luke's disappointment.

"I won't. I can't." Luke's unhappy expression probably mirrored his own, but Han couldn't afford the compassion.

"Do I have to keep on asking until I get an answer I like?" Luke asked, in what might've been an attempt to lighten the tension but definitely fell short of that goal.

He made a rude noise down in his throat and trampled whatever Luke planned on saying next with his own words. "Get used to it, junior. You're wasting all this effort on something you can't change."

"I don't know how to get through to you!" Luke slapped one hand against the clearsteel in obvious frustration. Been one hell of a long time since he'd seen Luke so close to the edge of helplessness. Didn't exactly make him proud to be the one to finally test those limits.

Luke leaned his forehead against the window and drew a deep breath. "I think you're trying to deny that your feelings toward a lot of things—" He stopped, straightened up, chewed on his lower lip in a way Han decoded as hesitation, and started again. "I think your feelings toward a lot of people have changed."

"Already said that. Tell me something I don't know." He couldn't deny the defensive reserve lurking beneath his provocative challenge, and by Luke's appraising, intensive stare it hadn't gone unnoticed, either. He had the feeling the last piece of some puzzle had clicked into place for Luke. 

Luke threw out what was clearly intended as a challenge. "How about this? You're trying to put things back into a familiar, safer context?"

Safe? A rimworld farmboy with sand between his toes was accusing him of wanting to be _safe_?

Incandescent anger flared low in his belly, furious warmth working its way upward until it loosened his tongue into customary mutiny. "Well, hell, I guess it's true what they say about Jedi insight then. At least you got the familiar part right. 'N it only took you…" he made a show of consulting his chrono, "five hours by my reckoning, to hear what I've been saying."

And Luke watched him carefully, assessing his reaction like he'd won some kind of private argument with himself. He was gonna wipe that expression off the kid's face if he had to kiss it off—

Kiss It Off

Kiss

Luke

\--heart pounding so damn loud Luke could surely hear it. Loud enough to drown out his lame, confused excuse. Playing for time, trying to think through the rising shock squeezing his chest. "You always did have the dumbest delusions about me."

He'd given away too much, because Luke laid one hand on his chest. Over his heart, and wearing a jubilant, victorious expression like a prospector who'd just struck a vein of pure, raw platanium and claimed the find all for himself. "Then explain what all this is about. Tell me why you're running away."

Damn, but the fractional note of exasperation in Luke's voice stung like a vapor wasp's bite, unexpectedly reminding him of the prideful grief in his mother's eyes when she'd finally acknowledged the impossibility of shielding her strong-willed son from a painful future. _Falling in love should be easy, Han, but you'll make it so hard. When it's the right person, you'll find yourself wanting to surrender independence, and that's something you'll fight every step of the way._

"Must be your imagination," was all he could come up with, a wild thrill riding piggybacked on every cell in his body, purpose emerging from touch.

Luke ignored his inflammatory remark, kept on speaking quietly, but with plenty of vehemence registering just under the surface of calm assurance. "Is that 'kid' safe? Safer than me?"

Gods, yes! But he didn't dare say it out loud, because he'd already revealed too much. Luke was reading his soul just by the rhythm of his pulse.

Nanoseconds away from answering no, he met Luke's direct gaze. Open, vulnerable, an aching hope in the blue eyes that sent a message straight to his heart, ignoring his brain. 

"Yes."

He wasn't at all surprised when Luke's mouth closed over his, demanding proof of that single word, and his surrender to the kiss surprised him even less. Like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

Because it was.

Giving himself over to the razor's edge of bliss, the unexpected surge of need passing between them, opening himself to the gentle demands of Luke's lips and tongue. He shifted, leaned to accommodate Luke's deeper, searching angle, gave in to the impulse he'd been fighting all morning and tangled his hands into Luke's hair. Yanked them even closer. Eager to lose himself in Luke.

And then he wrenched free because his knees just flat gave out under him and he sat down, hard, on the edge of the bed, head threatening to spin with all kinds of fantasies he would've laughed at and dismissed as juvenile an hour ago.

In that short span of time his entire perspective had cartwheeled, because this was Luke. And suddenly he knew the answer to his questions. The answer Luke had been trying to provoke from him all day.

Luke sat down beside him and slid his free hand over his own stiff fingers digging into a thigh. Nothing unusual about the gesture, except for the unsettling tension grabbing in Han's groin.

"Tell me what you're feeling right now."

Impossible to resist that command, but what he blurted out thoughtlessly wasn't anything close to what he'd expected to say.

"It's over between me 'n Leia." The instant the unanticipated confession left his mouth, Han's sense of liberation damned near made him weightless.

Luke was so still he might've been carved from sandstone. Wasn't even breathing, far as Han could tell when he looked to gauge the impact of his declaration. Still as a statue, except for those amazing eyes and a suddenly trembling hand pressed against Han's thigh.

"I thought maybe—" Luke's voice caught on a fragment of emotion and came to a grinding halt. "This is what you've kept bottled up all these months? Why didn't you tell me before?"

He stumbled over his response, still caught up in the tug-of-war between impulses: flight toward freedom or familiar longings he could only now put name to. 

"Same reason Leia didn't, maybe?" he fired back, reverting to reliable banter to establish irreproachable distance again. 

This didn't change what he had to do. Only made it harder.

"You didn't want to…disappoint me? Is that it? Did you think you were letting me down? Is that why you kept pushing me away?"

Hell yes he'd let Luke down, let Leia down, Chewie, this insane farce of a new republic they were trying to create out of sheer determination and idealistic faith, every soul under his command, and Drualla. And while he was listing all his mistakes he figured he could tack a few more betrayals to the end of an endless list. Like falling in love. With Luke. And not with Leia like he was supposed to.

"You don't love Leia?" 

There was a tremor in Luke's voice he'd never heard before, but he couldn't think about that right now. He tacked his attention to the question before him, and surprised himself again by what came out of his mouth.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

Luke's hand tightened on his own, hard enough to hurt, and in one corner of Han's mind he made a mental note that Luke mustn't have liked that admission. 

Now it was his turn to gather Luke's fingers up in his own tight fist and search for quiet, convincing words to cushion his awful honesty. "But not the way we – I - thought it would be. Don't think I knew until now that Leia 'n me are better as friends than lovers. I dunno…"

"What?" Luke barely breathed the question.

"You got a way of making me see things more clearly just by being here."

"I'm glad. Is there…" Luke's voice thickened, turned hoarse. "Is there anything else you're seeing differently now?"

Han dropped his eyes before the challenging stare, looked at Luke's hand still resting against his chest, accurate assessor of his heart's desire. Hasty withdrawal from this revelation suddenly seemed a very desirable course, but his body broke faith with his brain's commands. Luke's gaze followed his downward and there was no way he could misread the hard bulge in Han's pants.

Breaths were coming hard now because he'd never felt quite so unraveled this way before. Not with Leia, not with anyone. Gods, he needed Luke's mouth against his again, claiming and taking something he hadn't known he wanted to give.

And Luke knew without words what he needed, leaned forward and recaptured Han's mouth, demanding and not asking. Well, he'd never had any trouble following Luke's lead anyway. Yielding to the strength and pressure of Luke's embrace sent scalding arousal through his belly, leaving only scorching confirmation in its wake. Confirmation that this kiss, this man, was what he'd wanted for far too long.

Rational thought told him his solution couldn't be this simple, this easy, but his body had other ideas. What Luke was offering felt like coming home. He wrapped one hand around Luke's neck and the other around his waist, a reckless exhilaration that more than rivaled the way he'd felt on his first flight as captain of his own ship filling the hollow spaces inside him. So charged with the limitless possibilities waiting in his future that nothing seemed impossible.

At least for the moment. And wasn't that what he'd always been good at anyway -- living in the moment? Taking what was offered with both hands?

He felt Luke's smile against his mouth and drew back far enough to gauge the kid's expression. "You laughing at me, junior?"

And had to strangle the impulse to hold up his hand to shield out the radiance of that smile, because the light that was Luke would've trickled through flesh and bone anyway, just like it always did. Taking up lodging somewhere inside his soul, until he didn't know if any part of him belonged wholly to himself any longer.

"Nah." If anything, Luke's smile grew wider, practically glowing with an unconditional joy that set Han's heart battering against his ribs. "I'm just... happy." The smile transmuted into a wicked grin Han could've sworn he'd patented years ago.

Still friends, was what that grin promised him. They could still be friends, even if they became--

Pragmatic concerns coalesced around him like an interdiction field that jolted him out of fevered fantasies and back into reality. 

\--Lovers.

A reality he didn't remember, if it included that possibility.

"Happy." How to describe what he saw in Luke's face? It couldn't be measured by words, could only be felt. In his heart, his gut. 

There was only one way he knew to express that feeling inside him, the energy of a dozen suns about to explode.

Deliberately, he allowed his gaze to drop by slow, lingering degrees, claiming Luke's body with his eyes just as Luke had claimed his soul with a kiss, then he flashed an insolent grin. "Wanna prove how happy you are?"

He pulled his hand away from Luke's neck, to slide leisurely down the same trail his eyes had blazed, a journey of discovery that burned flesh through layers of fabric. Until his hand rested lightly in Luke's lap, covering the engorged heat there. Listened to the erratic breathing that filled the cabin.

He could feel the finely tuned tension in Luke's body, and recognized himself as the source of that tension. Because he was touching him. Unimaginable power in his hands, to move someone so profoundly just by simple touch.

Get a grip, Solo. Only power you got is to ruin his life if you let this go any further.

Crazy to think that admitting he'd fallen in love did anything but complicate matters beyond redemption.

Luke caressed his cheek and Han turned into the gentle touch that prompted warm tingles through his body; closed his eyes to better concentrate on the sensation. 

"Stop worrying," Luke admonished softly, in eerie reflection of his thoughts. Anybody but Luke and he would've called it coincidence.

"Don't do that," he muttered distractedly without opening his eyes.

"Don't do what?" The caressing hand stilled, tightened around his jaw and held him firmly in place. "Don't touch you?" Ragged breaths warmed his cheek. "Don't kiss you?"

Brat, he thought, and blindly sought Luke's mouth, his lips grazing across rough stubble before fastening onto his target. Sank his hands back into the silky strands of hair and let Luke's tongue coax his own to come out and play. Hung on tight and refused to break for air until he was lightheaded. Because Luke tasted so right in his mouth, like the rich, smoky smoothness of aged Corellian brandale.

"Luke," he said, just to savor the sound of his name, because suddenly the single syllable, such an ordinary name, had taken on a greater significance. This kind of idiotic obsession had to at least be the stepchild of self-delusion, but if it was, he figured he didn't want to hear the truth.

"I want you," he confessed, and thrilled to Luke's uneven gasps of breath.

"Prove it." Luke's mouth with its teasing, almost mocking words swept in to claim his in another long, thorough kiss that moved beyond forceful into bruising. Strength meeting strength in a way only another man could offer, pressing him back until the mattress came up to meet him and everything went horizontal beyond Luke's face.

"Nicely done."

"Glad you approve." Luke grinned back at him, a shock of tumbled fair hair hanging down over his eyes. Unable to resist the lure of that untidy fringe, Han brushed shaggy bangs away with a gesture meant to be exasperated but ended up feeling strangely tender. Like all the restless impatience had bled out of him and into Luke with their kisses.

"Closer," he cajoled, when Luke knelt over him to slip fingers through the seam in his shirtfront and tug the fasteners apart, focused on his task in a way Han had never seen before. An intensity so acute it sent an apprehensive scrim of frost crackling through his chest.

He'd never been wanted like this before. Hell, he'd never wanted anybody this badly, either. Nice kind of symmetry about it, he supposed. They could crash 'n burn together.

The burn part was definitely true, that was for sure, the heat pooling in unexpected places like wrists and elbows while Luke slowly, teasingly, stripped the shirt from him, like a predator playing with its victim. The crash, well, that would be inevitable. Always was. But they were both strapped in for what promised to be an incredible ride until then.

Luke's hot mouth sliding down his neck distracted him from pointless philosophy, and when teeth grazed a nipple, sharp jabs of high-voltage electricity sizzled down an invisible path directly to his cock. He couldn't silence the escaping moan any more than he could prevent his nipples from tightening or his cock from stiffening.

"Touch me," Luke demanded and Han obeyed, swiftly yanking the black tunic over Luke's head and tossing it aside. He'd seen Luke's naked body dozens of times over the years, sharing close quarters and community showers, but now, in the cabin's dim glow, the difference between that remembered boy and the man kneeling astride him hit home in his gut.

Damn but Luke was gorgeous, all power 'n passion and throttled energy like the Falcon's engines pushed to her tolerance limits. Barely leashed to his command.

He traced the line of breastbone, following the contours sculpted by nature, lips dropping kisses in the wake of his caressing hand. Searching for the rhythm of desire beating out its own syncopated pattern under the fragile skin. Casually he flicked a peaked nipple with his finger for the sheer pleasure of watching Luke gasp, his head falling back in boneless abandon.

I could get used to this.

He thought he'd lived by the rule 'never give anybody power over you' for too long to abandon it entirely, but--

"I need you, Luke." The admission came pretty easily, considering that only a few hours ago Chewie'd accused him of having an advanced degree in running away. 

Their gazes collided, locked on course like programmed torpedoes. "I know."

He supposed Luke couldn't have known how that would conjure up memories of the carbon freeze chamber, of Leia and Vader –Luke's sister, his father... an endless circle that always seemed to bring him back to his starting point. Luke.

"I've always known." 

Luke didn't have to say the rest. I love you. And I know you love me. They both knew it now, and it hurt like a sear of ice around his heart that Luke had known for so much longer and kept his silence while Han dallied with his sister.

Apologies would only belittle both of them, though.

Luke smiled at him, and a confident hand cupped the curve of his cheek, pulled them together, forehead to forehead; a callused thumb gently traced the outline of his lips. The position was awkward as hell and he was probably gonna have a crick in his neck later, but the unguarded affection in Luke's eyes and touch was worth any amount of minor aches and pains. "It's all right, Han. We've got all the time we want now, to figure things out."

"Don't need no time," he grumbled, clapping his hand on the back of Luke's neck and moving in to lick his way into Luke's mouth and tangle their tongues together for a fraction of the eternity he wished for. Until Luke disconnected and levered himself away. Han found he couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight of sculpted muscles highlighted into clear definition. Elegance and efficiency in a single compact package. 

Luke's grin bespoke mischief. "That's good, 'cause I don't think I can wait any longer." He ducked his head and Han jerked when he felt nibbles to the skin around his navel.

"Hey!" But it was only a distraction, because Luke was opening his pants and tugging them down. He braced his weight against his shoulders and lifted his hips to help, but his muscles didn't want to obey his commands. He'd seen it before, the way previous bedmates had submitted to his own lead, a surging desire to be owned, even if just for the moment, making them go limp and passive , but he'd never dreamed the same thing might happen to him.

The strange thing about it was that the urge wasn't frightening at all. And that was something he'd have to think about later. But some moments called for action instead of thought and this was definitely one of those instances.

When his last boot hit the floor he was ready, enough energy gathered under his skin to clasp Luke tightly and haul him into close embrace. The heavy belt dug into his stomach but the discomfort was minimal compared to the sensation of erect nipples against his chest and soft hair tickling his cheek. 

He stroked down Luke's back in a long, exploratory caress and Luke stretched and arched under his touch, accompanied by a soft murmur of undiluted contentment. Han slid both hands under his belt, searching for uncharted skin. "What're you doing, still wearing this?"

Luke lifted his head and searched his face with unfocused, hazy eyes that said better than any words he felt it too, this confused fracturing of identity, the same need to merge that was streaming through Han's veins.

_Whaddaya see in me, huh?_

Luke swallowed hard and the voice that emerged from his throat was thick as smoke in a cantina. "Let go of me 'n I'll do something about that."

Instead, Han tightened his arms, because he discovered he couldn't bear the idea of separation. "Yeah. In a minute."

Luke draped one leg over both of his and locked their hips together with unrelenting pressure, in strange contrast to the feathery touch gliding across the ridges and valleys of his ribs and teasing his nipples into almost painful rigidity. 

"Luke!" he implored, rational thought skittering through urgent desire like so many leaves caught up in a whirlwind. So this was how it felt to be in love, a sweet, ecstatic communion of body and soul.

And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it even if he wanted, because none of this had anything to do with conscious choice. Nobody'd ever made him feel the way Luke did.

Luke uncoupled their legs and in one swift, unexpected movement that made Han's cock jerk, settled his hand over his groin. "This what you want?" Luke's roughened voice whispered in his ear.

A fist closed hard around his erection and Han arched off the bed in response.

"Yeah, I thought so."

Luke handled him with an aggressive confidence that signaled long familiarity with the exact variety of rhythm and intensity needed. So easy to fall into the synchronized unity of strength and experience that rose and fell with each perfectly timed stroke and brought him to the very brink of orgasm.

Above the aching, twisting tension in his balls, beyond the sound of his own pulse in his ears and breath wheezing in his lungs, he couldn't forget this was Luke, breathing with him, guiding him, loving him, somehow knowing instinctively how and when and where to touch him.

Luke removed his hand abruptly, and Han hissed in frustration, opened eyes he hadn't known he'd closed and blinked to bring Luke's face into focus.

"What?" If his expression was as dazed and luminous as Luke's...

"I—" Luke just shook his head, breathing hard. "If you could see yourself now."

Whatever Luke saw in him, it couldn't be half as amazing as what Han saw from his side. Unconditional acceptance of all his faults and weaknesses.

"Luke, you—"But language was inadequate and all he could do was cradle Luke's head between his hands and hope the kid could read in his face what he felt. "So beautiful," he said, lamely.

"Yes," Luke agreed, his voice unsteady, his smile loose and soft and vulnerable. "You are."

And before he could argue that judgment, Luke ducked his head to jot a flurry of kisses down neck and chest and stomach, each kiss leaving a lingering charge on his flesh. Luke's uneven breath gusted against his cock, made it leap with expectation.

"You don't have—" He tried to say, but Luke anticipated his protest and silenced him with yet another kiss, this one to the very crown of his erection. Sweet goddess, it wasn't gonna take anything more than a few seconds of Luke hungrily licking drops of moisture like that, and he would come.

"I want to." Then moist warmth enclosed him, swallowing him inch by inch, and he cried out wordlessly, oblivious to everything but this sensation and the knowledge that it was Luke giving him pleasure. Teeth scraped roughly but he was already past the point of no return, unable to hold on to this gift for more than a moment.

Galaxies pinwheeled behind his eyelids, a dizzying array of color and light and movement as the pressure in his balls increased toward the release point. Luke grabbed hard around his hips when they lifted, held him steady against the eruption, took Han's cock deeper into his mouth, and together they rode out his climax and all the aftershocks.

Luke caught his fall, just as he'd known he would, but it was over too fast, too soon. Wasn't enough. He still ached with wanting. 

But before he could define what else he wanted, there was something else, something nagging at his mind.

"C'mere." He tugged Luke upward, grinned at the sight of his flushed, glowing face. So damned beautiful. "Proud of yourself?" he teased, trying to hold the sentiment back before he made a fool of himself.

"Don't I have reason?" Luke's smug grin more than matched his own.

All he could do was nod in agreement, but his eyes must've shown some inappropriate reserve, because the smile faded quickly.

"What is it?"

Han laid two fingers over the pulse beating hard and fast in Luke's throat, a gauge of sudden alarm. He cleared his throat, wondered how to make this sound unlike accusation. Or irrational jealousy.

"You ever--" Shit, there was no way to make this anything less than what it was. "What we just..." Ridiculous of him to expect something he couldn't offer in return. But he did. And he couldn't ask anyway. "Forget it. Nothing important."

Luke made a gesture of incomprehension. "Just say it, Han. You can say anything to me."

But he couldn't say it and when the silence stretched on for too long, Luke understood.

"Does it matter?"

It shouldn't. But somehow, it did. Madness, Han knew, to wish desperately that no other man had ever received the kinds of kisses and caresses Luke had given him.

"No," he lied, and the way Luke's expression shifted told him he'd lied badly.

"It's all right." A gentle hand traced the little scar on his chin with unwavering tenderness. "I understand. I.... sometimes I was so jealous of Leia I'd have to pack up and leave for a while. Couldn't stand to see you together, the way she took her... possession of your heart for granted."

Whenever Han thought of his time with her, even the warm memories would carry a tinge of regret with them, because Luke had suffered. But he still couldn't apologize for something he'd not known about at the time.

"I didn't know," was all he could offer in his own defense. Had never even occurred to him. How long had Luke carried that pain?

An odd sort of rueful acceptance settled over Luke's features. "I wanted you to be happy, and it seemed like being with Leia was what made you happy. I knew I could live with that, even if sometimes it hurt. Until the last few months, I thought..." He shrugged and smiled. "None of that matters anymore, Han, because you're here now. We know how we feel and that's what counts. Anything else, we'll just take as it comes."

A chill settled hard and immovable in his gut when he thought of what Luke had endured on his behalf. His selflessness, the way he constantly reshuffled his own needs to the bottom of the deck. He didn't deserve Luke.

But... had his misguided blindness sent Luke into other arms for temporary comfort? Was that why Luke hadn't answered his question? Not because it was an invasion of privacy, but because he was protecting Han against a harsh truth, that it was all his fault? That would be like Luke.

Nothing made sense anymore, least of all the storm of confused feelings chewing its way through his gut. Perhaps he should add possessive to his increasingly unbalanced ledger of faults.

Luke's gaze clouded over. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Blaming yourself."

Hells, he was doing it again. Reading Han's thoughts like they were scrolling out in script across his forehead and maybe he was cheating just a little, because Han knew damn good 'n well he wouldn't've survived a week in some of the rough company he'd kept if he hadn't learned to guard against broadcasting his thoughts and feelings through unconscious body language.

He smiled lazily, just to show Luke how wrong he was. "I thought that was your job description, not mine."

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"The thought that I might've had lovers before you."

Yes. "Nah. Got me confused with somebody else." But his voice faltered, as good as a confession, and he knew it.

This love stuff wasn't as easy as it looked from the outside, and he braced himself for Luke's disappointed reaction.

Instead, Luke laughed softly and carded his fingers through sweat-damp hair. "Oh, Han. You are jealous."

Nobody'd ever had reason to accuse him of that before. "I'm not—" 

Luke silenced him with a kiss. "I guess that makes two of us, then."

Suddenly it didn't matter if he never answered the question, wasn't like he could lay claim to Luke's past anyway. Just his future. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, forget it."

"No, I want to tell you. Because not answering isn't fair to us. I don't wanna play head games."

He didn't think this conversation would've happened with Leia; her clear-eyed, level-headed rationality allowed little room for unfounded fears and less for reassurances. The differences between Luke and Leia had never been so clear to him before, especially the way he and Leia had never been able to really communicate. On those occasions calling for complete honesty, he'd chosen Luke as his confidant, assured he had no need for the power struggles that'd always marked Han's relationship with Leia.

"There's been no one else. You're my first."

He had the feeling he was gaping like some kind of blathering fool, because until Luke spoke the words, Han hadn't known he'd primed himself for a different response.

Incredulity coiled in his stomach and sang in his ears. Impossible. Entirely unbelievable that Luke -- Luke of all people!--

He stuttered. Hells! If Chewie could see him now, he'd never hear the end of it. Stuttering! "I don't believe it," he managed to get out before losing his struggle with astonishment.

Luke assumed a sober expression, but a suspicious gleam in his eyes warned Han what was coming. "If you're disappointed, I suppose I could do something about it, kind of after the fact."

Gods but he needed that moment of levity, to allow for recovery. To catch his breath from the succession of shocks today. "Sure. You could always join one of those matchmaking services."

Luke didn't miss a beat. "Or I could advertise in the _Galactic Enquirer._ "

"I could be a reference." He assumed a leer.

Luke looked thoughtful. "Simple is probably better. Maybe I should just pick somebody up in a bar?"

It was gonna take a while before all this sank in, became part of his reality. Here he'd been thinking he'd used up his share of luck and then some godsbedamned miracle like this happened.

"Sorry, but I don't think you'll be visiting any watering holes by yourself in the foreseeable future."

Luke's smile increased the illumination in the cabin by several megawatts, he figured. "See? No reason for blame. You haven't ruined my life or anything silly like that."

"Give me time," he said, only half-teasing. "I'm still probably gonna get courtmartialed, y'know. That should look good on your resume. Occupation: Jedi and Heroic Defender of Truth and Justice. Note: Lover courtmartialed twice, by two different galactic governments."

"You forgot to mention I'm also kind to small furry animals and droids." Luke grinned and kissed him lightly. "And that worn-out tactic's still not gonna work, pirate. We're in this together. You can't shut me out now."

Not like he'd been able to do it the first time around anyway, and maybe he didn't want to after all. "S'pose not. You're one stubborn farmboy, gotta admit." He levied an accusatory finger under Luke's nose. "But don't you forget, it's my fight. You're just there for moral support."

He'd gone from adamant resistance to tacit approval in less than an hour, which was probably a speed record even for him.

"Sure." Luke agreed way too fast for Han's comfort, but he couldn't argue with his concurrence. But there was something he could do about the hardness still pressing against his thigh.

Han pulled Luke in close for a deep, searching kiss and sent his hand downward to mold his palm around the rigid flesh straining against fabric. "We gotta get you out of these pants, huh?" he murmured against Luke's mouth. Fever started to lick at the edges of his belly again, at the thought of unleashing Luke's passion. Of returning the pleasure.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Their hands met and fumbled together at his belt clasp, getting in each other's way and accomplishing nothing until Luke laughed. "Just let me do it, Han."

Been a long time since he'd been clumsy in bed, like an eager schoolboy with his first love. 

But when Luke disentangled himself and sat up to tug off his boots and pants, Han recognized that truth like a concussion grenade detonating in his stomach: it was a first time. Loving Luke made everything new and unfamiliar again.

No need to disguise that awareness, but old habits died hard. He leaned back into the pillows and pretended disinterest from behind lowered lashes. "Don't hurry on my account." 

Luke tossed a glance over his shoulder, a small grin curling the edges of his mouth. "I won't." His gaze dropped deliberately to Han's reawakening cock. "I plan on taking my time."

Well, that deliberate challenge certainly raised his blood pressure and helped matters along nicely. Han palmed his lifting erection and smiled back. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Luke reached back and gently slapped his wrist. "Don't you start without me."

When Luke stood up, Han found himself staring at his cock, the hard angularity of it profiled against the mottled light streaming in from the window. He could almost feel its solid weight and heat against his tongue.

He pushed off the bed to meet Luke's approach halfway, mouths meeting hard. Luke's hand curled around the back of his neck in an attempt to steady them, but they overbalanced and tumbled back onto the bed, Luke on top of him.

"Now you can start," Luke told him. As if he needed permission to begin replacing all those aching, lonely memories with happier ones.

He sent a hand gliding down Luke's arm and flank, testing how the swell of hip fit into his hand, marveled at the tautness of muscle beneath smooth skin, eased his hand around the curving backside and molded their bodies together. The move brought their erections together and Luke stiffened in reaction, sending a shockpulse of excitement straight through Han.

Breathtaking. The substance of dream made real.

"So good," Luke groaned as he buried his face at Han's shoulder, hips rocking with innate, animal rhythm.

"Only gonna get better, I promise." He squeezed Luke's buttocks hard and his fingers, searching for sensitive skin, slipped into the crease. Luke's response was electrifying: the explosive gasp of expelled breath, the way his back arched and knees skidded across the mattress in an attempt to spread his legs wider. His cock couldn't be any harder if it'd been encased in plasticrete.

No time to think, no time to plan, just react, open himself wide to his knowledge of Luke and let it fly, trusting his instincts the way he always did.

He rolled them over and moved down Luke's body, sampling the nuances of touch, taste and scent as he went: how the nipples swelled in his mouth as he sucked them, the way the salty tang of sweat he licked out of the navel exploded on his tongue, how the musky odor of Luke's desire made his own cock quiver with anticipation, and finally, the way springy curls beneath the navel tickled his nose as he cruised lower.

Luke writhed under him, didn't seem to know what to do with his hands because by turns they tangled in Han's hair or clutched at the sheets, and incoherent moans greeted everything he tried.

If he'd ever thought about it, he would've known Luke would be like this.

He rubbed his cheek gently against the silk of Luke's erection, let it slide across his closed lips, wanting just a hint of the taste.

Sweet, like the best vintage Dinaran bluewine. And just as intoxicating. 

Without a doubt addictive too, like glitterstim spice.

"More," Luke demanded, the first real word he'd said in a long time, and Han was willing to oblige, an insensible desire to taste all of Luke driving him onward. His revived erection rubbed painfully against sheets warmed by body heat as he bent to obey Luke's command, tucking himself between Luke's sprawled legs.

The skin of Luke's inner thighs was startlingly soft, velvet over steel muscles, inspiring deliberately gentle kisses that dragged low, shuddering sighs from Luke and initiated a trembling reaction in Han's body that had nothing to do with fatigue. Clearly wired to the same escalating tension, Luke's balls were drawn tight against the base of his cock, flesh stretched taut over delicate spheres. Supple, elastic skin flexed and quivered erratically in response to tender strokes from Han's thumb.

Luke growled, a raw, primitive sound of urgent need he'd heard before, just not from a human throat. Reminded Han of the time years ago when, lost in the hills above his granddad's hardscrabble farm, he'd stumbled upon two wolvens circling and scenting each other. Back then he hadn't understood the mating imperative and been more interested in getting away with his skin intact than watching them. But as he'd waited for the right moment to slip away unnoticed, the energy between the two animals drew his attention, until all thoughts of his own safety were abandoned and he could only watch, spellbound. Something in the smaller wolven's fearless attitude as it growled, stared down and subdued the larger creature had resonated low in Han's gut, quickening his breath and stirring unfamiliar longings—and of course he'd promptly forgotten the wolvens once he figured out how to satisfy those longings.

Forgotten them until now, that was. Luke's growl brought that mesmerizing moment in a tumbled forest glade back to life, so real the slightly sour odor of moldy leaves, wet fur and proud submission came alive in his nose and mouth again, to mingle and blend with his perceptions of Luke.

Anything you want, little wolf, Han promised, and slid his thumb down further, to stroke and tease the smooth skin just below and circle the puckered opening he found, instinct and memory and desire guiding him. Rational thought had no place here.

He angled his neck and dove in closer, to carefully mouth and lick the curving surface, and then, because he wanted to, non-negotiable, dipped further down with his tongue, into the cleft. To return a fraction of what had been given to him.

Luke's shout was nothing like his previous growl, and it took all Han's strength to hold his hips down, because he was about to levitate right off the bed.

"Easy," he gentled, arms and neck and back strung tight with the effort to keep his touch light. 

"Han -- I... Han!"

Then, because it felt right, he closed his mouth over Luke's cock.

More like Sudepan sherry than bluewine after all, he decided, after he'd drawn Luke deep into his mouth, because there was a hint of tartness, too.

Silk and iron, salt and sweet. So many different textures and patterns woven into the complex tapestry that was Luke, and the more Han looked, the more he saw. The kind of complexities it would take a lifetime to unravel, if he was lucky enough to have that much time.

But for right now, Luke was fraying, hips straining, lifting like a seafalcon on the verge of flight, and Han looked up because he had to witness this for himself. Luke in undiluted rapture was incandescent like a full moon hanging low over the ocean's horizon and reflecting into infinity. He never closed his eyes, but locked his luminous gaze on to Han's face, invited him in and shared all with him. A riptide of mutual joy that breached every barrier between them and sucked him under, to drown in the ocean of Luke's unmoored pleasure.

Intent on the vision before him, he barely noticed when something inside him crested too, spilling wetness on the sheet beneath him.

Luke gasped and sagged back into the pillows, drained and limp, but not before twining their fingers together and pulling Han close. His sleepy, satisfied smile prompted Han to wrap his larger body protectively around Luke's slender frame.

I've got you, kid. Safe to rest now. I promise I'll still be here when you wake up. There wasn't much he could promise right now, but he could give Luke that, at least.

He could tell Luke understood his silent pledge by the way his body relaxed, on the brink of a nap that by all rights should be far more restful than what'd passed for sleep on Drualla. 

But sleep was about as out of reach for Han now as it had been on that creaky cot hours before, for an entirely different reason. Their lovemaking had imprinted itself on his body, fading sensations of pleasure and completion that lingered in his flesh, a sparking energy that made him feel weightless like gravity had just reversed itself.

That energy must've been contagious because Luke stirred, pressed closer, clearly awake now. "Han? What're you thinking?"

"How perfect this is," he replied honestly, not giving himself permission to think—only feel. "What're you thinking?"

"That this was definitely worth waiting for." Luke captured his face between both hands and brushed his mouth across Han's lips.

The crazy thing was, he knew Luke wasn't lying or exaggerating, wasn't saying that just to make him feel good. Absolute sincerity and complete belief shone from his face, the beacon of effortless certainty he'd unconsciously followed ever since they'd first met.

Han cleared his throat, trying to swallow away the sense that he'd well and truly strained every concept of good fortune this time, used up far more than his portion. "Didn't mean to make you wait so long."

Humor glinted in Luke's eyes. "'S all right. Always knew you'd be hard to convince, thick-headed as Corellians can be."

"That's practical to you, junior." He deliberately invoked the affectionate nickname, just to evaluate Luke's reaction.

Damned kid grinned openly. "Yeah, that's what Owen tried to tell me, too. Ever hear the saying, you can't make an old bantha drink at a new water hole?"

So he was getting compared to a cranky old farmer now? "Sure. 'Cept on Corellia it goes a little differently. Only the young swim at high tide."

Luke's grin faded. "You think I'm foolish to believe this could work out between us?"

He could call it whatever he wanted, but what it really boiled down to was a grasp of reality and sense of proportion that Luke lacked, because he invested too much of himself in everything he took on. Sheer faith and unwavering determination couldn't solve every problem in the universe. Not even with the Force.

"Oh, hells no!" He locked his hands around the back of Luke's neck and claimed his mouth until Luke opened under his enthusiastic assault and reached back with even more intensity that didn't have a wampa's chance on Tatooine of satisfying the hunger stirring in his belly anytime soon.

Looking dazed and breathless, Luke managed a shaky smile when they broke for breath. "Guess I was mistaken."

Han sent a curious hand in search of the sticky warmth coating Luke's stomach, dipped those same fingers in his own wetness and then licked their mingled essences from his fingers.

_Us. This is us. You 'n me, together. You did this to me. Turned me into... half of us._

"Share?" He hardly recognized Luke's voice, harsh with wanting.

Everything. He wanted to share everything with Luke, an impulse that near terrified him, because it was something so completely alien to his creed of independence. And this time his fingers were shaking when he offered them to Luke.

Luke's right hand closed over his, steadied them both while he carefully sucked the last traces of moisture from each individual finger, and from his vantage Han could see the pulse beating hard and fast in his neck. And realized his heart had picked up the same rhythm. Two halves of a whole.

He leaned their foreheads together, like he could absorb the information he wanted directly, skin to skin. "Just answer one question."

The answer came in a winded rush. "Yes."

He didn't bother to disguise his exasperated eye-rolling and pushed Luke back down to the mattress. "Ain't that kind of question."

"Pity."

Gods, it'd been too long since he'd seen Luke in such a playful, happy mood, and it staggered Han to think he was the cause, the source. With a galaxy at Luke's disposal—?

"Why me?"

Luke's face stilled for a moment, before disbelieving astonishment chased across his face. "You can ask that?" He rubbed the back of his hand across Han's chin. "Because I love you."

He grinned, not even attempting to hide the wave of pure, unadulterated joy that struck like the sun coming up over the horizon.

Didn't get any simpler than that, and if Luke turned around and asked the same question of him, he'd be at even more of a loss to translate the abstraction of feeling into something tangibly recognizable. But at least him falling in love with Luke made sense, because Luke was... Luke. 

"Yeah, well, I was hoping for something a little more... detailed than that."

Luke's loosening expression said better than words that was about as reasonable as he was going to get. "Don't tell me you have doubts that a Jedi and a guy like you..."

Another godsbedamned perfect moment he remembered with exact clarity. Luke had looked so natural there in the pilot's chair it never did trigger any possessive alarm in him, not the way Leia's usurping of his seat had raised up those instincts, something Chewie'd remarked on later, in private. He'd only tossed out that off-the-cuff remark for the sheer pleasure of seeing Luke's youthful jealous bristle anyway.

"No, but I figure others will."

"Do we care what anybody else thinks?"

Did he? Not really, because living life according to others' expectations was at the heart of his current set of problems. Nor would he call them doubts, exactly. It was just that the qualities that'd made him desirable to others couldn't be what Luke found worthy in him, because Luke saw things differently. 

He shook his head and answered indirectly, awkwardness another new sensation he had to grapple with today. "Guess I just don't see myself as such a prize 'n I don't think too many others will, either."

Luke's hand tightened around his jaw and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss that banished all thoughts of his limitations, their mouths finding the right angles with the ease of familiarity by now.

He was gonna lose himself in those blue eyes, wide-open and cloudless like the desert sky, making promises he could hardly believe. 

Luke's roughened voice hinted at volatile anger. "Then they're wrong-headed fools."

"Wrong-headed fools Leia has to work with every day, though," Han pointed out, suddenly seeing consequences of an unresolved situation tumbling like so much water over a cataract. "'S pretty well expected that Leia 'n I are gonna get married eventually."

Luke frowned. "You're right. We'll have to talk with Leia as soon as possible. I wouldn't want her to hear it through gossip. I think—I hope it won't be too difficult for her, since you broke up some months ago. She's had a little time to heal by now."

Before Han had time to consider how to contradict that suggestion of consolation, an old hurt surfaced in Luke's eyes, no matter how calm his voice sounded. "I suppose I should be grateful she's never acknowledged our blood relationship. At least it won't be embarrassing for her that way."

You have no idea, Luke.

He'd known a clean, final break was the best solution before he set out for Drualla, but somehow it just hadn't seemed worth the effort to hurt Leia so thoroughly. And maybe he'd wanted to take that small comfort into battle with him, that they'd still be able to salvage something out of the wreckage.

"Luke." He drew a deep breath and held it for a long moment, sifting through possible ways to break the news. 

"It'll be all right, Han." Luke's faith in his sister was touching, but it sent a coil of apprehension tightening in his gut. No way Luke could see this as anything other than a betrayal.

"I'm sure she'll handle this just fine, once she gets used to the idea. She'll want us to be happy."

We were, for about an hour, until good ol' Han Frikkin' Sirussi Solo ripped both our hearts out. You falling in love with me's no godsbedamned miracle after all. Just another instance of the universe evening up the score on me. And you're the one who's gonna take the fall.

Failure had never tasted so bitter. "Might be a little harder for her than you think, Luke. She doesn't know we broke up. Nobody does, 'cept you 'n me."

The hand that'd been idly exploring the curve of his shoulder gripped hard, so hard pain registered above and beyond Luke's shocked stare. And then Luke pulled back, denial in every line of his body.

Suddenly bloodless lips mouthed _What?_ but no sound emerged.

Explanations wouldn't cure the wounds of betrayal on Luke's soul, or Leia's for that matter, or make his mouth taste any better, so he didn't say anything. Just steeled any trace of insulting apology from his expression before he met Luke's eyes and accepted his obligation of guilt.

Should've been easy to do, following the example of Luke's public facade, but it was arguably the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

In a gesture Han recognized, Luke twisted the bed sheet in his hands and pulled it up to cover his nakedness. It was something Leia'd taken to doing too, those last few weeks they were together. Rejection of intimacy. Her subconscious had known the truth, at least.

Easy to track the flow of Luke's thoughts just from his expression and realization came belatedly: Luke was still wide open emotionally. Not trying to close himself off yet, although that surprised Han.

When Luke finally managed to get words out, he could only stare at him in utter disbelief.

"You're doing it again. Trying to push me away." He caught a glimpse of a desert sandstorm of frustration whirling behind Luke's eyes before they dropped to observe hands that were knotting and twisting nervously. "Is the idea of loving me that frightening?"

Jolted out of precarious control, Han flared back with a hostility that seemed to come from nowhere. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

Luke answered in calm, rational tones that made no sense whatsoever. "I heard it. I heard what was behind it too. If you've changed your mind about us, why don't you just say so, instead of dragging Leia between us."

The cabin felt like it had depressurized, his lungs starving for oxygen and his eardrums feeling like they were about to burst. Like reality was disintegrating around him at lightspeed.

"Haven't changed my mind, though I expect you have, 'n I'm not dragging Leia between us. Just trying to do as much damage control as I can, this late in the game."

Luke's bitter little laugh stabbed through the anger building in Han's chest. "Damage control? Is that what you call this?"

He couldn't quite let go of the annoyance yet. "Don't you want to hear about me 'n Leia?"

Luke's head snapped up. "Not particularly. You're just using her as an excuse and that's not fair to her or me."

"Fine. You don't wanna hear the truth, I can live with that."

"Han..." Luke reached out toward him blindly. "Listen to yourself. We were so close, damn it. Don't back away now. I love you."

All that angry heat cooled and condensed down to a lump of ice in his gut, because Luke sounded like he was fighting for his life here, and maybe he was. But what a futile hope, that they could hold onto something as intangible as love. Up until now, the only thing he'd ever truly owned was the internal alarm that jangled fiercely whenever he veered too close to the edge of commitment. He'd never been able to silence it completely during his tenure with Leia, and look where that'd taken them...

"I know you're scared. So am I."

A raw confession that took his breath away with the abruptness of a gravity imbalance. Luke's house of cards had an unstable foundation and here he came like a wind out of nowhere, threatening to topple the entire structure.

He grabbed hold of Luke's outstretched hand and pulled him close, to bury his face in starshine hair. So what if he'd made a career out of not needing anybody. Right now that felt like a lie.

"Sorry." That gruff apology would have to do for now. "Guess I'm still trying to protect you. I'm bringing a lot of baggage along with me that could mean trouble for you."

Only after Luke laughed out loud did he realize how ridiculous that must've sounded to Vader's son. "You don't need to protect me, Han. Just love me. That's all I ask of you."

He'd do his damndest to oblige.

Sensitive fingertips played over Luke's tremulous smile. Memorizing the texture of his skin. "You've had time to get used to this, to know your feelings and your reasons. I'm still doin' backflips here."

"I understand. It took me a while, too."

Why he'd let any doubts enter into the equation when Luke could zero in on his soul like that was beyond him. He'd never felt so known before. Known, and accepted for who and what he was, nothing more, nothing less.

No pressure. No demands. Just... Luke.

# # # # #

Han didn't like Coruscant. Well, actually, he hadn't seen enough of the entire world to dislike it yet, but he definitely didn't like the Palace. Vast, echoing and cold like a tomb, a cathedral for politicians and bootlickers dedicated to worshipping their abuses of power. A godsdamned monument to a dead ruler and his lust for domination.

 _Creepy_ , Luke had called it when they first arrived and were escorted through an interminable maze of corridors, lifts and ante-rooms toward the military tribunal chamber. The description sounded deceptively juvenile and their escorts had exchanged amused glances, but Han had known better after one quick glimpse of Luke's strained, guarded face. Nothing but the truth. Some resonance of evil lived in these stone walls, and Luke knew it.

The place made Han's scalp tingle with premonition. Maybe he didn't have the Force, but physical matter had its own reserve of instincts, and he trusted them as much as Luke trusted his Force. 

It hadn't been the time to hold hands like love-struck teenagers, so he'd had to offer reassurance in the form of a curt, "You all right?" and hope Luke understood. A corresponding faint smile said he had.

Their day had started off badly, with them roused from bed in the middle of ship's night and hustled planetside—and had gone downhill from there.

Coruscant. Crown Jewel of the Core Worlds. So-called Bright Center of the Universe. Shining Goal of the New Republic. And now that they had their pretty bauble, what would they do with it?

Was it worth the price they'd all have to pay?

He supposed it wasn't fair to judge an entire world on the basis of a spooky old building, a gaggle of greedy generals and some puffed-up politicos, and in fact he'd found some parts of Coruscant pretty interesting on his first visit. And it wasn't reasonable to resent the healthy energy of this bustling world, or begrudge the millions of bureaucrats their petty concerns.

But he did. Because Drualla was now a dead world. 

Coruscant and Drualla. One sacrificed for the other. Strategic value, hah! A rallying point. A symbol.

Drualla was a godsdamn symbol, too. A fucking monument to greed and corruption.

He thought he'd worked through his initial fury over the frikkin' inquiry during the hours spent walking this warren of confusing passageways with Luke, but it felt like his temper had gotten its second wind by now. Ready for round two in what he suspected would be a long, drawn-out match with an invisible opponent.

C'mon, Solo, he ordered himself in his best general's voice—which had never been too effective to start with and sure as hell wouldn't work now that he was an ex-general—but he was strung too tight right now to be rational once Leia showed up.

'You sure you want to meet with her alone?' Luke had asked, looking a little startled. 'I assumed we'd talk to her together—'

He was sure. It wasn't gonna be pretty and he figured Leia might prefer a little privacy when he gave her the news. Wasn't like it was Luke's responsibility anyway. He'd already taken far too much on himself during the inquiry. Besides, Wedge and a couple of the other Rogues had been all too happy to snare a few hours of Luke's time.

He checked his wrist-chrono for probably the fifth time in as many minutes, remembering all the times he'd waited for Leia to finish a meeting or one last piece of paperwork, only to find their minimal private time trickling away into an ocean of "just a few more minutes".

Not a bench in sight, either, and he was pretty tired from too many hours on unforgiving stone floors. Hells of a meeting place she'd picked, this balcony overlooking an immense reception hall of some sort. Looters apparently hadn't managed to find their way this far into the palace precincts though, because unlike the other areas he'd been through this area was graffiti free. He scrambled up on a stonework balustrade to get a better look at a vaguely familiar tapestry adorning the far wall. Considering the size and age, maybe he'd delivered an "authenticated replica" to some wealthy rimworld chump. He'd helped Lando out a time or two with that antiquities scam. Back before a Jedi tumbled into his life and woke his conscience.

Han closed his eyes, but he hadn't walked far enough or long enough, because he could still see the tribunal chamber on his eyelids. The formal, adversarial arrangement of furniture, the glittering medals decorating spotless dress uniforms. And him and Luke, unshaven and grubby in their wrinkled clothes, looking like gate-crashing vagrants among all that gaudy perfection.

The one moment of levity in the whole proceeding had come right at the start, when he'd muttered to Luke that with all those medals on his chest, Bel Iblis better hope nobody tossed him in one of the palace fountains, 'cause surely he'd sink and drown before he could be rescued.

Considering what was going on at high levels, he figured it would've been a public service had he followed up on that impulse.

"Losses within acceptable parameters," he said aloud, disbelief still curling in his gut over the initial shock of the day. The inquiry board had congratulated him on his victory. A godsdamned ruined world and nearly five million civilians dead—and that passed for a victory in this new republic he'd helped create.

And here he'd thought he was heading for a well-deserved court martial! Hell no, they wanted to play pin the medal on the general and send him out on goodwill tours to cover the stink with cheap perfume. Military wisdom at its finest.

A court martial would be preferable, he'd told Madine.

Maybe by now they'd taken him up on that suggestion, because in all the shouting he didn't remember anybody accepting his resignation.

Trying to have it both ways was what Luke had said to Bel Iblis. Wanting to use Han's charisma and reputation to validate flawed goals while making sure he had no real authority or presence. He'd been rather vocal moral support, but Han hadn't minded, because Luke was gorgeous when angry.

Later, in a slice of deep shadow between two columns and many more kisses, Luke had amended his opinion of Han's non-future with the military to decorative. Sure they'd taken the risk of accidental discovery but their passions had been high and it hadn't taken much to turn anger into desire.

"Han," Leia said from behind him. "You really should stop scaring the tourists."

He'd been born reckless and restless, his Ma had always said, with never a fear of falling. Spacers couldn't afford vertigo. He opened his eyes and looked down to check out the unanimously horrified expressions staring back at him from some twenty meters below. Unknowing accomplices to a self-serving administration, just waiting to be betrayed. The frustration coiling along his nervepaths brightened into unsettling energy that demanded release. In response he stretched out his arms and leaned forward like he was about to take flight. The flock of tourists shrieked and scattered and Leia snorted in a most unsenatorial manner.

"Sorry, I'm revoking your permit for indoor gliding, effective immediately. Get down from there."

He deliberately overbalanced and came off the balustrade backwards, landing neatly. Luke wasn't the only one in the family who could do acrobatics. But he had a feeling he might need a hot shower and a massage later to ease potential muscle strain.

"Showoff." She studied him carefully, charting out the subtle changes in his appearance, same as he was doing to her.

"You look—" 

"Mad as hell?" He winked, wanting to keep it light and easy. This was gonna be hard enough, without either one of them admitting any kind of affection.

"No." She frowned, puzzlement showing through her eyes. "I expected to find you tired. Stressed. Older looking, perhaps. But you're not. You almost look... younger."

That was Luke, of course, but he couldn't tell her that yet. 

He wished he could say the same of her but he couldn't. The strain of recent months had worn on her, tiny lines and creases noticeable even in the filtered late afternoon glow, and it tugged at his heart just a little to see her like this.

She was wearing white. Funny, but when he used to dream of her she was always in white.

He'd mentioned that to Luke just last night as they lay talking in bed, and full of crazy ideas like Luke always was, he'd insisted that was Han's subconscious making Leia pure and untouchable and out of reach. And then, mischief in his eyes, he'd asked if Han ever dreamt of him and what he wore in those dreams. 'All the time', he'd answered. 'And skin, a smile and me'. He'd just leaned in to start turning the dream into reality when, like a bad joke, the door buzzer had interrupted them.

He hoped she wasn't going to say something like she'd missed him. She didn't.

Compassion filled her eyes. "You have a right to be mad as hell. I... went through your reports. After that I couldn't bring myself to watch the inquiry recordings."

Her hands smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her gown, a conciliatory gesture he recognized of old.

"I'm truly sorry, Han. It must've been terrible."

Bad enough for him, but so much worse for others.

"I had no idea it'd been like that." She hesitated and looked around. "Do you want to talk about it?"

It wasn't easy to think of those things, much less speak of them.

"Don't know that I can, Leia." He swallowed hard against the accumulation of despair rising up to choke him again. "I thought I was making a start on forgetting—no, not forgetting. I don't want to forget. I just wanna learn how to..."

His voice thickened and closed off his throat. I just need to learn to live with the memories, the same way Luke has had to do with his.

Or for that matter, Leia with hers.

"I know there've been worse disasters in this war." He didn't want to name Alderaan but it was the closest comparison he could think of. "But the worst part is that it wasn't clean and it wasn't fast. It was slow, lingering death by inches. Not just the planet, but it was like they wanted to wipe out every single living thing on it as well. Imperial efficiency at its worst.

"They looked to me to save them, Leia, 'n I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it."

She murmured something probably meant to be reassuring, but now that he'd started, the words came out in a rush.

"There was this family in Bei Kope. Benaru and Asari, their kids Mim and Jey. We attended Mim's lifebonding ceremony the night before all hell broke loose. Looked like clear skies for them, but within a week Mim was dead because his cruiser was shot to pieces by a Super Star Destroyer."

He clenched his fists tight, nails digging into his palms.

"They had SSDs and all we had were the leftovers Bel Iblis 'n Madine could spare from the Coruscant offensive. You have any idea how many TIEs just one SSD holds? And how many fighters we had?"

He no longer cared if his mind cracked and bled around those memories.

Silent tears rolling down her cheeks, she grieved in a way he couldn't. Crying for his pain, for Chewie's and Luke's. And Drualla's.

And in some strange way that made him feel better, to know that someone here wept for Drualla.

He dug around in his pockets looking for some kind of cloth to offer her, but all he could come up with was a fairly grimy rag he used to clean his blaster.

She smiled faintly as she accepted it. "You know, one good thing came out of that inquiry."

He stared at her in confusion. Maybe she hadn't seen the inquiry, but she had to know about the admissions of conflicting orders, deliberate delays and callous disregard for life that'd come out in testimony. Because she'd cried for a doomed world, he was able to hang on to his temper by the slimmest of margins. "Can't imagine what."

She indicated the blaster strapped to his thigh. "Nobody got shot. At least not as far as I know."

It took him a second to realize what she was trying to do. Easier than he'd anticipated to fall into the old bantering, teasing pattern, just without the hard edge of competition.

He grinned back, and wondered if she would call it Ironic Grin Number 5 or Goofy Grin Number 26. "Well, if that's your definition of a good inquiry, I guess I'd have to agree." He patted the blaster's grip, comfortable and familiar as an old pair of pants. "'Course, they took it from me before they let me in the room."

"Wise precaution."

"Luke's lightsaber too."

She frowned at that, probably just as offended as he'd been when their escort turned to Luke and demanded his lightsaber.

"I heard he attended the tribunal. I thought he might be here, too." She looked a little forlorn. "He really is all right, isn't he?"

Han couldn't help the grin that creased his face. "Luke is fine. He's great."

"Oh. I guess he had better things to do, then." Her shoulders drooped slightly, more emotionally off-balance than he'd seen her in a very long time.

"No, it isn't that." Guilt flared again in Han's gut. She didn't deserve what was about to happen between them. But if it was a toss-up between what he owed Leia and what he owed Luke, well, he knew where he'd land.

"It isn't that," he repeated, anxious to absolve Luke from any responsibility for her pain. "I asked to meet with you alone, Leia. He wanted to be here. He'll catch up with you soon."

Awkward silence descended between them briefly, as much a measure of that indefinite parting too many months ago as anything else.

"Well, I suppose if we're going to have discussions like this, perhaps we should find someplace a little more private." She finished dabbing her face gingerly.

"I could use a drink," he conceded. Or two or three.

"There's a nice place just over there," she waved vaguely off to her right. "Good food and the liquor isn't watered."

The suggestion startled him until he remembered the Palace wasn't just one building, but a series of buildings connected over the centuries by small arcades housing shops and restaurants.

Maybe the ache in his belly was hunger instead of anger, considering how long it'd been since he'd last had a meal.

The cafe was as pleasant as promised, dim, noisy and busy with the bureaucratic dinner crowd, but once they claimed an outside booth and punched up the privacy field they were completely alone.

The booth cantilevered over the balustrade, offering a good view of that intriguing tapestry that'd drawn his attention earlier. He studied the wall hanging and tried to pick out the design woven from faded yarns while they made their meal selections and he brought her up to date on Chewie and the _Falcon_.

A blue-eyed wolven it looked like, reminding him of that fleeting image he'd had of Luke, and a predatory bird with a wide wingspan and fierce beak.

Leia noticed his interest. "Does that look familiar to you at all?"

He shrugged, more absorbed by the bottle and dinner plates that'd just materialized on the table. "Sort of. What're those animals? Looks like a wolven 'n some kinda bird."

"Yes, that's right. A ruffed wolven and a treskel falcon. Both native to Drualla."

A falcon? Native to Drualla? He took another hard look at the tapestry. Good thing he brought a healthy dose of skepticism to convenient coincidences like this, otherwise he'd have shivers running up and down his spine right now.

"One of the reasons I wanted to meet here was so you could see this tapestry. It's priceless and considered a world treasure on Drualla. Turned up here in the Palace about fifteen years ago, after Drualla came under Imperial control."

Same thing had happened to some of Corellia's treasures, and none of them had turned up yet, to his knowledge. There'd been a lot of buzz over the newsgrids about seizing the Empire's coffers as reparation once Coruscant was in Alliance hands.

Come to think of it, that must be why the tapestry looked so familiar to him. Replicas were painted on the side of many a community center all over Drualla, but it was the kind of landscape he'd taken for granted. 

"I was thinking maybe the Druallans would like it back."

A conspiratorial bent to her statement suggested that official approval was optional.

"You want me to steal it and take it back to Drualla?" A little thrill of contraband excitement tingled in his chest. "Unofficial reparations?"

"I'll make certain it's official, after the fact. But I want it in their possession first. It's little enough we can do for them. Rebuilding their agricultural economy to a self-sustaining level is projected at ten local years. The cost will be staggering and it's been suggested in the council chambers to sell this tapestry to a private consortium in order to raise some of the funds needed. Without giving the Druallan government any say in the matter. Since the world is temporarily under republic martial law.

"I've raised objections and been ignored," she continued. "But this tapestry is more than just a work of art or a valuable item. I've heard it described as the 'Druallan Soul'."

"Then I guess they'd like to get it back, wouldn't they?" It was a desire he could understand. Not because of himself so much, but because of Luke, and the way he still groped for some sense of his birthright, both as a Jedi and a man.

Freely choosing an uninvolved lifestyle as he'd done was one thing, but Han couldn't imagine how it must feel for Luke, to know his heritage had been deliberately withheld from him. That was the kind of pain he held inside and let out only through oblique comments and nightmares. The kind of pain it was gonna take Han years to unravel and heal, one small hurt at a time.

He supposed it was inevitable that the thought of depriving people of an essential part of their heritage would also resonate more for Leia than it would a lot of others.

In any case, an adventure like this would probably appeal to Luke's sense of justice, if he could get past the 'stealing' part. 

"I'll talk to Luke about it," he finally said, and only belatedly recognized attentive curiosity in Leia's face. A tactical error, that. He'd never made a practice of consulting anyone in his decision-making process. But she didn't ask and he didn't volunteer anything further. He still hadn't come up with a good way to open up the topic.  
He suspected she hadn't either.

His natural approach, the one he'd always applied to practically everything in his life, whether it was work and money, his ship, his friendship with Chewie, or sex, was to just say it out flat and let everybody else deal with their own reactions. Saved him a lot of time and trauma. But 'Oh, by the way, I've fallen in love with your twin brother and plan to spend the rest of my life with him' just wasn't gonna cut it this time.

He took his first bite of tender, juicy tafrit steak and remembered why he'd enjoyed that first visit to Coruscant. It would taste a lot better if he could figure out what to say to Leia.

But as long as she was talking about some religious artifact he could enjoy his meal and consider ways of breaking the big news. "Isn't there some kind of legend that goes with it?" he asked abruptly, interrupting whatever Leia'd been saying.

She slanted a curiously appraising glance toward him and smoothed down her hair where little tendrils were coming loose from her braid. "There is. The digest version, I presume?"

He nodded silent agreement, his mouth too full to mumble.

"It's a resurrection myth. The basic idea is that when the mortal world is oppressed and suffering, the Sun God Lupin will send his most beloved companion, Sirussi, to perform the ritual cleansing of the world. Great destruction results but out of the devastation a new, better world will be born. Sirussi gives up his life to save the world, but is reborn."

Sirussi? He inhaled sharply and went into a coughing fit when his whiskey went down the wrong way. _Hells, no wonder they called me sirussi. Ritual cleansing pretty well describes what I managed to do for Drualla._

Leia slapped him on the back. "That's what you get for drinking 200 proof Corellian whiskey. You all right now?"

She was poised to deliver another slap, but he hadn't recovered from the first one yet, so he nodded and tried to look like he could breathe.

"The hopelessly romantic version is a little different, but still deals with the resurrection and immortality themes."

"Oh, great, poor old sirussi gets to die in this one too?"

"The story is that Lupin and Sirussi face many trials, die together and are reborn, and that in the next life they find one another again. And so on and so on, throughout eternity. The embroidered version says that every few hundred years they choose to be reborn as mortals and live an ordinary lifespan, always in times of great conflict, and when they do, a wolf and a falcon are always present, either symbolically or physically."

Energy of a different sort came alive under Han's ribs, trapping breath and pulse in a strange paralysis, time slowing down around him. 

"Han? Are you all right?"

The paralysis receded and his heart started beating again. "Sorry."

"You went pale and blank. Like you had a shock of some kind."

He mustered a grin and hoped like hell it covered his internal bewilderment. "Yeah, I accidentally took a bite of vegetable."

She looked about as far from reassured as someone could get. "You sure?" Suspicion glowered behind her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm sure. See, it's right there. A timbal root, if I'm not mistaken. Makes me sick as a nerf."

She looked about to argue that with him, then apparently thought better of it. It seemed like a nice break from their old pattern, where they'd challenged practically every single word out of each other's mouths. "If you're joking you must be feeling better after all."

"I'm fine. Uh, Leia—" 

"Han?"

They spoke simultaneously, exchanged raised eyebrows and Han gestured 'you first'. 

She took her time, first pushing her plate away, then folded her hands in a precise fashion on the table.

"It's not easy to say this, but I suppose it's best to do things straightforwardly. You'd do the same for me, I know."

He laid his fork back down on the table and turned all his attention on Leia. Sounded like he wasn't the only one who'd wrestled with an uncomfortable confession.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and smiled in what he hoped was a sympathetic and encouraging expression. "You've got some bad news for me, I take it?"

She took a deep breath. "I don't want to hurt you, especially not if you've come back looking for... comfort. But I don't see how you and I could ever patch things up again. You've made a clean break with the military today, and I can't imagine you'd be very comfortable staying on in some different capacity for my sake."

Han blinked. "Got that right," he agreed, relief threatening to swamp all other reactions. 

She'd always been quick about spotting discrepancies between words and feelings. He wondered if maybe, like Luke, she could draw on the Force. "You came here to break it off with me, didn't you?" 

His attempt at a smile was a dismal failure. "Yeah." As a confession it left much to be desired.

She laughed, not because there was anything humorous in the situation, but the kind of laugh that follows a release of tension. "Well, that was easy, then. You were right, most of the things you said about us. We weren't aligned to the same purpose at all. Wishful thinking."

He shrugged, his silence standing in for agreement. 

"We should've done it before you went to Drualla. You were ready then, but I was holding on to you like some sort of security shield. I was feeling vulnerable and lonely, I suppose. Luke was gone, you were chafing to be free, and it felt like I was losing too much at once."

That admission of vulnerability had cost her dearly, he knew.

"And now you are. Free, I mean. Freer than you could've anticipated before Drualla. Do you have any idea what you'll do now?"

"Well, looks like once Chewie and I get the _Falcon_ up and running we've got ourselves a freight job."

"You know that I wish the best for you, don't you?" she said softly. "That perhaps somewhere in your travels you'll meet the right person."

He wasn't going to apologize or pretend he was sorry he'd fallen in love with Luke instead of Leia; he just wished he had a better idea of how to temper truth with tact, just this once. "Well, I kind of did meet the right person."

"What!" She leaned forward in her seat and covered his hands with hers. Two observations hit him simultaneously: how small and fragile her hands were compared to Luke's, and that her touch stirred no reaction in his body.

"Who? When? How?" Her grip tightened, but it was a feeble shadow of Luke's strength. "I don't understand. You've been on Drualla since—"

Her eyes darkened and she pulled away from him, her posture stiffening into an attitude of betrayal. "That was why you wanted to break it off before..."

This was no defense, not a confessionn or an explanation. It was a declaration of something more fundamental and permanent than he'd ever dreamed could exist and there was no way he was going to let himself or Leia belittle his passion for and commitment to Luke.

"No." He shook his head, wanting her to understand. "It's not that way. I didn't realize until just a few days ago. Luke made me see how I'd been shutting myself off, trying to run away—"

He stopped, because he didn't want to do this badly, but couldn't see any way to do it better. "Leia, I'm in love with Luke."

Let her make what she wanted of that.

"Luke? My brother?" Her face paled.

He nodded. "Don't blame Luke, it's not like he did anything wrong, it's me. I finally figured out that it's always been him. I just couldn't see it for a long time."

The way she chewed on her lower lip reminded him of Luke. Hell, everything reminded him of Luke.

"And Luke—feels the same way about you?"

He nodded, still barely able to believe it himself, the burn of joy and amazement that was too huge for his body to contain.

"He thought you 'n me, we'd already broken up. He didn't know it wasn't all settled between us, y'see. He didn't do anything wrong. You gotta believe that."

She tilted her head to one side and studied him intently. "I could feel there was something different about you today, but I didn't expect this. Do you have any idea what you look like right now?"

For a second he thought she meant he had food stuck between his teeth, and then reason asserted itself again.

"I hope the day comes when someone looks like that when he talks about me."

He shifted in his chair, the comment striking him almost as an intrusion into his and Luke's privacy. Irrational, he knew. "How's that?"

"Like he's... more important to you than the _Falcon_ is."

That set him back in his seat, because she'd just offered the best acknowledgement possible. She understood.

"He is." The answer tasted right in his mouth, sounded right in his ears. "He is."

"Then I really am glad." She smiled at him. "Even if it takes some getting used to."

Another little silence stretched between them, but this time there was nothing awkward about it.

He'd always said the direct approach was the best.

# # # # #

When Han started fuming with impatience while Leia fumbled with her apartment code key, he realized Luke was deeper in his bloodstream than he'd imagined. Nervous anticipation clenched in his gut like he'd come to the absolute limits of his endurance and any further delay might provoke disaster. As if Luke might stop loving him if he were gone ten seconds too long.

Their first separation. Four hours. Four frikkin' hours and he was already in a dither not just to see Luke, but to touch him, taste him, smell him—

Oh yeah, he had it bad.

There'd been a long crawl of years when he'd seen friends and colleagues fall in love one by one, and had never understood the way they'd all come up against individual boundaries of separation none of them dared exceed. He'd dubbed that impulse irrational and sworn Han Solo would never let himself fall prey to anything so binding. 

He still recognized it as irrational, but at least now he understood the urge while he waited out the interminable seconds it took for the door to swing open.

What the hell was he gonna do when they came up against a real separation?

Luke sat on Leia's hideously plush sofa, apparently checking out the flickering images of a late news update, but in his swift, abrupt turn toward the door Han read a similar thread of suppressed impatience. The quick smile Luke flashed was aimed toward Leia too, but the hungry expression in Luke's eyes clearly was meant for Han alone.

"You're back early, Luke." Leia tossed her shawl over a convenient chair and kissed her brother's cheek. "I expected those Rogues to do their best to corrupt you."

Luke stood up and Han sucked in his breath when he saw the narrow strip of golden skin exposed by the unbuttoned shirt.

 _Wanna touch you, Luke._ A need as vital as breathing.

"They tried their best, but I had better things to do." He might've been addressing the words to Leia, but Han knew they were meant for him. He grinned at Luke, ached to wrap his arms around that slim body and kiss him breathless.

"So I hear." Her smile was a little uneven, still coming to terms with the news. Han was glad all over again Leia had been the one to bring up the subject after all, that it hadn't been any kind of a blow for her. A surprise, sure, but not a fatal one.

She looked from one to the other and drew the obvious conclusion. "Let me see if I can find the key to Winter's apartment. It's just next door. I'm sure she wouldn't mind you staying there for the night, as long as she's out of town."

The deliberate wink she sent in Han's direction as she mustered her strategic retreat made him grin. "It might take me a few moments," she warned.

Before Leia turned the corner toward her bedroom, Luke was in his arms. Han slid his hands under the open shirt and across warm skin, and bent to claim the mouth that tasted of cheap ale and a strange spicy flavor. Kept one ear tuned to the small sounds from the bedroom and kissed Luke until their reciprocal diffuse tension mutated into something more specific.

"Tell Wedge he needs to start buying a better brand of beer, will ya?"

The slow, surprised smile was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen... until the next smile came along. "Leia doesn't seem to mind very mind."

"Looks that way, does it?" He placed his fingers against the pulse moving the skin at his throat. Counting the rising cadence that confirmed mutual interest. "Would you believe she brought it up? She'd come to the same conclusion I had. Didn't want to hurt me, though, if I'd come back looking for comfort."

Luke dug his fingers into Han's jacket and kissed him with unapologetic possessiveness that damned near curled his toes. "You'll be getting all your comfort right here from now on, thank you very much."

One more kiss like that and he was going to forget they weren't alone.

Luke slid a hand across his chest, teasing the nipples through thin fabric. "What's this?"

"Oh, I forgot." Han pulled the colorful, rectangular flimsy from his shirt pocket and handed it to Luke. "My first shipment as a free trader."

"Yeah?" Luke grinned at him, a playful grin that utterly demolished his sober Jedi reputation . "You're sure going for the big jobs, aren't you?" He glanced down at the flimsy and stared at it for only a moment before making an identification. "I know what this is. A depiction of the Druallan sirussi myth." He glanced up at Han. "I don't understand. What are you supposed to be transporting?"

"The original tapestry," Leia said, coming up behind Han. He nearly jumped, because he'd not heard her approach. Like being with Luke flooded his senses so completely that everything else drowned in that intensity. And surely that was just because everything was still so new and he hadn't had time to get used to all these strange new feelings of intimacy. He couldn't walk around in a daze all the time.

Luke's expression shuttered back into familiar caution, so maybe he'd been taken unawares also. And even though Han knew it wasn't a good thing to be so wrapped up in each other, knowing that Luke was just as overwhelmed left a happy commotion in his chest he didn't expect to go away any time soon.

"It's here in the Palace and should be returned to its proper home." She took the 2D out of Luke's hand and tapped it against Han's chest. "And I think it's appropriate that Han do it."

"What Leia means is, she wants me to steal the tapestry—"

"Steal it?" That'd jolted Luke. Not because he couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of Han stealing something, he knew, but because the suggestion came from Leia.

"It's a long story. I won't go into that right now, though." She glanced aside at the chrono. "As you said, there are better things to do tonight. We can talk tomorrow."

Han could hardly credit the blush rising up her cheeks as she pressed the keycard into Luke's hand. "Leia..."

He swept her into a hug, apology for their checkered past, gratitude for her present understanding, and joy for his unlimited future combined into a single wordless gesture, because anything else would embarrass her.

She stepped back and smiled at both of them, awkward affection shining out of her eyes. She still clutched Luke's hand tightly and in a deliberate indication of approval she placed Luke's hand in Han's and squeezed them together.

"Go."

# # # # #

The door to Winter's apartment shut behind them with a conclusively loud snap, and Han didn't bother to double check the lock. Wasn't like Leia would be bothering them anytime soon.

He took advantage of the nearly impenetrable darkness to haul Luke in close and kiss whatever part of him he could reach. Turned out to be the back of his neck, soft hair tickling his nose and cheek as he pressed his lips over the pronounced ridge where spine met neck, and dragged his tongue upward, into the little hollow hidden underneath the hair. The need to know every part of Luke was a fever inside him, nothing he'd ever consciously decided. 

Under his hand, Luke's chest rose and fell with inconstant breath, and Han was open to the slightest vibration of pulse beneath the skin.

Felt like a godsdamned eternity since he'd been alone with Luke. "Missed you," he whispered, fitting himself snugly against the long curve of back and bottom. Pressed together, he felt the double echo of twin heartbeats and shudder of breath slowly synchronizing. Coming together. Merging.

Earlier impatience had stilled, held in abeyance by some intersection of time and purpose.

He'd long ago decided time was an illusion, something abstract and incomprehensible. The truth of a life was in the moment to moment living of it anyway.

"Missed you too." Luke turned in his embrace, just far enough to align their mouths for a sweetly slow kiss that chased shivers up his spine. Sharing this interlude outside of time, an unhurried calm before the storm of passion overtook them.

Luke touched his cheek with gentle fingers, drifted soothingly across brow and swept back the heavy fall of hair from his forehead. "I didn't understand before."

Han swallowed hard against the devastating tenderness in Luke's voice and touch. "What?"

"All that we are, all that we can be together."

Shaken, he could only hold on hard. "If you didn't know—"

How could I?

Luke's voice was shaky. "I don't know how to tell you—"

Trust, even more than love, was the catalyst for change, and he'd always trusted Luke. Blind faith, the very liability he'd accused Luke of enough times. "Then show me."

He detached one hand to fumble along the wall for the enviro controls, and dim light sprang up around them with the unsubtle swiftness of machinery. 

With the light came a steep increase in arousal, the mere sight of Luke triggering a release of adrenaline into his bloodstream. Starting him on that long, slow burn that would soon take them both to a different level.

Fight or flight. Or make love. And they'd already done two out of three.

Luke led the way into the bedroom and Han noted that either Winter was going for a minimalist style in her decorating, or she'd only just moved in and hadn't accumulated any furniture yet. A mattress spread on the floor was the room's sole furnishing. He was glad to see it, though, since the floors were some kind of uncarpeted hardwood.

Luke gave him no time to consider priorities or strategies, but caught him up in an immediate embrace and held on tight, hands slipping under his vest to clutch into shirt fabric.

"I want you," he murmured into the hollow of Han's throat, as if claiming that small patch of flesh exposed by the collar-vee, his breath stirring the fine hairs that grew there. Han could feel the want, like a living thing, the way it seemed to seep right through Luke's skin and into him, in some strange osmosis of desire.

Quickly, never taking his lips away from his throat, so that all sensation centered on warm lips and beating pulse, Luke stripped first the vest and then the shirt from his body. And then Han was naked from the waist up and Luke's hands were gliding over his flesh, pausing nowhere but raising heat everywhere. Another precious journey of discovery designed to learn the language of their bodies.

When Luke released him, there was only one thing to do, and so Han did it. Finished the job he'd started in Leia's apartment and peeled the shirt from Luke's shoulders, slid it down past the crook of elbow and over hands that curled with a new kind of tension.

Han couldn't take his eyes off Luke, color heightened and breath coming faster, holding in check the same stirrings of desire burning in him.

He took his time, trailed his fingers up the tender flesh of inner arm from wrist to shoulder and charted the reaction at chest and groin. An elbow beckoned irresistibly. He lifted Luke's arm, rested it on his shoulder and laid his lips against the hollow between the hard bones and nipped at the creased inner fold where a blue vein pulsed out the rhythm of mutual desire. Discovering the flavor of passion.

There was something so perfect about touching Luke like this, in unusual ways and unexpected places. Trying to find something as precious and unique as Luke himself. It was all part and parcel of Han's desire to know every part of him. His desire to make Luke tremble and growl with need, to draw the wolf to the surface.

A low moan vibrated in Luke's throat. "Han..."

His own cock filled with blood, lifted and lengthened until trapped by his pants.

He cradled Luke's face between his hands and like that was some kind of starting signal, Luke surged into his embrace, pressing up against him with all the strength he could muster. Struggling to get as close as he could, trying to burrow under Han's skin.

No sound except their hitching, faltering breaths and the kisses that they shared, everywhere they could reach.

It was a long way to the mattress, and when Luke shifted his weight, he took them both down into free fall. I'd follow you anywhere, Luke.

Han rolled them over and covered Luke's body with his own, dipping his head to lick and bite at hard nipples, first one then the other. Luke arched up and nearly bucked him off but Han refused to be thrown. Skated his hands across the curve of ribs and shoulder, and jotted an unbroken trail of kisses along the sharp ridges of collarbone. Volatile energy chased through his groin with every touch, both of them wired to the same power source.

He brushed one hand across the front of Luke's pants, to test the degree of wanting. 

Live in the moment and you'll always know what to do. 

"Lemme take care of this," he whispered against Luke's belly and opened his pants. They were a snug fit and freeing the sweaty hardness wasn't as easy as he'd expected. He gripped hard and smiled when Luke lifted into the touch, a soaring joy thudding high in his throat at the unleashed passion on Luke's face.

He wanted to coax maximum sensation for Luke. Make Luke feel in his body what Han felt in his soul.

He licked the crown of Luke's erection and circled the rimmed edge beneath, and breathed in the dark, musky scent of Luke's desire.

When he stopped, Luke made wordless demands that tempted Han to complete the pleasure, but he wanted Luke on the edge, no further. "Not yet, not yet," he placated, holding a steadying hand on Luke's thigh, offering an anchor to the present, and taking a moment to watch the ragged heave of ribs and stomach.

He worked Luke's pants down to his knees and had to hold there until he could wrestle the high boots off—always a struggle—and finally remove Luke's trousers completely, jotting kisses on newly exposed skin. More sweet treasures to discover, soft skin at the bend of knee, coarse leg hair that stretched toward his hand in a static electric dance, and on impulse he bent to kiss Luke's toes, a new discovery that made Luke writhe.

And when Han was done he sat back to admire the work of art sprawled on the bare mattress, the elegant lines of Luke's arms and legs, the strong jut of his erection, all of him so breathtaking that Han's chest hurt. His hair had brightened to gold in Drualla's sun, and his skin darkened, except for those areas not exposed to the sun.

"You're striped," Han said, tracing the demarcation line between tanned and pale.

Luke grinned up at him. "So are you."

"Not as much. I'm not nearly as modest. I took off all my clothes when we bathed or swam." At first he'd taken no notice of Luke's reluctance to bare all in the last month or so on Drualla, when they'd been living out of caves and bathing in glacier melt mountain streams. And then he'd gotten curious, because he remembered a boy who'd been about as self-conscious about his body as any droid except Threepio, which was to say, not at all.

He'd guessed at all sorts of things. An injury Luke didn't want to reveal, some bizarre Jedi rule, or the water was simply too cold, but he'd never guessed the truth: Luke had feared displaying his unmistakable response to Han's body.

When Han dropped on top of Luke, trying to hold him down with his greater weight and height, Luke reversed the hold with such ease that Han knew he'd been playing games up until now.

The wolf had arrived.

Still couldn't figure out how his pants and boots seemed to melt off at Luke's touch, when he'd had so much difficulty.

Not that he was complaining, since that meant Luke was touching him that much sooner...

Luke wasn't nearly as restrained as he'd been. Didn't hesitate to kiss his way down chest and belly and seize Han's cock in his mouth, work his tongue around it and draw much of its length in deeply, until Han was ready to jump out of his skin at the way Luke seemed able to hold him right on the edge.

Or in the way Luke looked up at him while holding Han's cock on his tongue, a combination of sight and touch that nearly made him come on the instant.

It had to be instinct guiding Luke, he supposed, and that was a thrill in itself, to think that Luke might understand him so thoroughly.

By the time Luke moved over him again and locked their mouths together, tongue diving deep, Han was panting hard with the need for release, so hard his ribs felt bruised.

"Come on," he urged, during one of the brief moments Luke gave him to breathe.

Luke nipped at ear and throat. He was all over Han, cocks aligned and rubbing, a hot friction that wasn't going to last much longer.

But that wasn't enough for Han, an instinct that had been growing in him from their first kiss, because it was exhilarating to recognize a kindred soul, a worthy equal.

He wanted Luke inside him, and that was something that could only be freely offered and never taken. He'd been on the other side of this negotiation and knew the value in this act was in the willing surrender of an evenly matched player.

Han's entire life for some years had been all about being in control—of his body, his mind and his environment. A week ago, the thought of choosing to give up control, even to Luke, would've sent him running for the hills. He guessed that was an understatement. He'd been running long before it was a conscious thought.

"Make love to me, Luke."

Even if they never got around to it, the look on Luke's face was reward enough, a joy and acceptance of the gift he offered. Luke leaned over him with fierce tenderness, sent a long, lingering caress to Han's chest and claimed his mouth again.

"We need something," Luke whispered, his voice roughened with anticipation.

Han locked his hands around the back of Luke's neck and grinned at him before pulling him back down for a long searching kiss. "We have something. In my pants pocket."

"You—" And laughed softly.

This was easier than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he wasn't giving up anything at all, certainly not control.

He shivered and closed his eyes when Luke knelt between his splayed legs.

Strong fingers stroked a slick coating down his thighs and probed within the furrow of his buttocks. "Han. Look at me." Luke bent over to take his mouth again and whispered, "I love you."

Han tucked his knees into his chest, spread his legs, and watched Luke guide his cock into position. Their eyes met, an acknowledgment of the trust between them, and then there was no time for anything else, because Luke thrust forward. Han's hands gripped hard around muscular arms and he released breath in a harsh gasp. Nothing in his life had prepared him for such an amazing jolt of intimacy, a visceral splintering of singularity.

Luke stopped and passed a gentle hand over his forehead. "It'll be all right. Tell me when you're ready." 

Only a moment, and the tearing heat eased and his muscles relaxed enough to obey his will.

"Now," he whispered, eyes locked on Luke's, and then Luke slid in fully in one smooth thrust, and held up to give him time to adjust. In the perfect stillness of Luke's form, Han sensed the harnessed energies barely throttled by a Jedi's will. He pulled Luke's head to his and brushed their mouths together in the merest hint of a kiss. Tender concern in Luke's eyes unraveled the last knot of tension in his chest. He signaled his readiness and Luke quickly found his rhythm, gathering Han up into his drive for completion.

All his carefully constructed isolation fractured with Luke's first push, scattering fragments of his former self to the solar winds, loosening all his controls and sending him soaring. A flying heat he'd never dreamed of. As Luke strained against him, shifting his hips to different angles to please Han, pain transmuted into a scalding pleasure.

"More." And he wrapped his legs around Luke's torso, pulling him deeper within himself, heaved to meet every push of those slim hips and hunted for additional friction.

Luke reared back, shortening his thrusts, moving faster and Han moved with him, watching every flicker of inclining pleasure chase across his face. So beautiful, so perfect, they were going to shatter together, Luke was, he was, they were—

Spending in long, shuddering waves, sticky heat blossoming inside him and on Han's belly between them. A perfect reciprocity.

A new flight path. Ceiling unlimited.

It was impossible to sleep after that. After Luke drifted off, obviously exhausted, Han had gotten up. Restless, not from impatience or dissatisfaction, but from the euphoria of love making.

Making love. What a godsbedamned miracle this was, that a two-credit drifter like him could end up with someone like Luke.

He'd never felt like this, not even when flying, not even the first time he'd taken the controls of his own ship, never such a vast kinetic energy so barely contained by his skin he figured it must be leaking out around the edges.

Winter's apartment had a minute balcony with a pretty lousy view, but the Coruscant aurora was on full display in the night sky and the temperature had cooled down enough that it wasn't so sticky. He'd pulled on a pair of pants and come out here to sit on the railing and think about how lucky he was.

His heart still stumbled when he thought of what had happened tonight, the closeness, the sensation of being everything to one other person. All he could figure was he'd done something very right along the way, if the universe wanted to reward him like this.

He'd managed to coax a half-decent brandale out of the drink synth but that feeling of being high wasn't from liquor. He was drunk on intimacy and wanting and love.

"Han?"

Luke stood in the doorway, still tousled, sleepy and beautiful. And very naked.

"What is it?" Two steps brought Luke to his side, to wrap arms around him in a loose embrace and dip down to kiss his shoulder.

You. It's you. Because Luke's touch made him forget everything but joy, smothered the regrets and fears and liberated a bliss unlike anything else.

But all he said was, "It's the aurora."

Maybe it'd taken him a long time to get to this point but now he knew. Belonging—to the right person—could never be a mistake, was never restrictive.

He cupped one hand around Luke's jaw and kissed him with bruising strength. Luke opened under his fervent onslaught, reached back until Han could feel him in his bloodstream, so much a part of him there was no telling the boundaries anymore.

"I love you," he whispered, with the same kind of inexplicable conviction Luke had displayed only now he understood how bone-deep it was.

Rebirth.


End file.
